


in another life

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Humour, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 106,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: F.B.I. agent Murphy comes to the small seaside town of Sanctum with two goals in mind - one, to catch the wanted serial killer Charmaine Diyoza, and two, to get out as quickly as he can. Yet, when he meets local police officer Bellamy Blake, the secrets of Sanctum begin to unravel and Murphy realizes that not only is there more to this town than meets the eye - he's also not who he thought he was.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Daniel Lee/Zev, Emori/Raven Reyes, Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller, Monty Green/Jasper Jordan
Comments: 45
Kudos: 60





	1. time present and time past

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! some notes before we begin:
> 
> 1) this is an au of one of my favourite tv shows, "haven." you definitely do not have to have seen haven or know the slightest thing about haven to understand this, because i only took the basic concept of the show for this fic - almost all the plot points i've changed for my own purposes. i would highly recommend the show though, especially if you're a fan of fantasy and supernatural elements and the like!  
> 2) every chapter summary is a quote from a poem centered around time  
> 3) the title of this fic is from the song "lost and found" by katie herzig  
> 4) this entire fic is dedicated to my very best writer friends, blueparacosm and oogaboogu. please go check out their works and give them some support, they are both fantastic people and so, so supportive. 
> 
> that's all from me! i hope you enjoy this beginning chapter, and the fic at large.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Time present and time past  
> Are both perhaps present in time future,  
> And time future contained in time past.  
> If all time is eternally present  
> All time is unredeemable."

Even before his car broke down on the side of the road, Murphy had been having a horrible day. 

“Fantastic,” he sighs as a thin trail of smoke rises up from the rattling hood. The engine sputters out, loudly proclaiming its exhaustion after having travelled somewhere around five hundred miles to bring him to a seaside town in the middle of nowhere. Murphy’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen a sign of civilization for at least an hour. Now, the looming  _ Welcome to Sanctum - Population 5,000  _ sign in front of him is the only indication that he’s not the last man alive on Earth. 

He curls his fingers around the rough leather of the steering wheel, gritting his teeth in annoyance. A minute goes by before he gets a hold of himself and he slowly pulls his phone out of his pocket, getting out of the useless car as he does so. The door squeaks as he closes it, the paint flaking off and scratching a little bit more than it already was. Really, it’s been a piece of junk for a while now, and Murphy supposes he should be grateful that it even got him to the town at all. 

His phone, though, still works, and the couple bars of reception are enough for him to dial a number he’s used so many times he’s completely memorized it. “Hey, boss,” he says, static crackling through the connection. 

_ “Murphy - you make it out there alright?” _

He casts a weary eye over his car, still stalled and smoking at the side of the road. “Mostly,” he says. “You sure this is the place?”

_ “We’re sure. All our latest information points to her having gone back to Sanctum, her hometown.” _

The sun is beating down onto him, so much so that he has to squint to look further down the road. He can see the small seaside town off in the distance, its harbour the most notable aspect about it. A slight breeze from the ocean rushes by him, catching the ends of his coat in its embrace. It’s a nice landscape, to be sure, but he’s yet to see a single sign of life. In the time he’s been there, no other cars have passed him, and he’s barely heard a sound. “It doesn’t strike me as somewhere she’d go,” he says. 

He hears laughter on the other end of the call.  _ “Maybe that’s the point.”  _

“Yeah, maybe,” Murphy says, though he’s not convinced. There’s something more to this. He’s been doing this job for long enough to be able to tell when the story isn’t as simple as it appears to be. 

_ “Good luck, Murphy. Call me if you need me - but I have a feeling you won’t.” _

He chuckles. “When this is all over, you’re going to owe me big time for sending me out to a place like this.”

_ “Sanctum might surprise you. Give it a chance. You never know what you might find out.” _

“Sure thing, boss,” he says, and then sighs, hanging up on the call. Somehow, he doubts that the town in front of him, now partially obscured by rolling fog, has much to tell him about anything.

The car beside him is very much still unusable, and he’s no mechanic. With a deep breath, Murphy adjusts the badge in his jacket and the gun on his hip, and starts walking down the road to make his way into town. This may turn into the most boring assignment of his life, but he’s here on business, and that’s always been what he does best. 

His boots click against the uneven pavement as he walks down the road in utter silence. Murphy’s really starting to wonder if he’s actually in the wrong place when he hears the first sign of a life barreling towards him. A large grey truck, its headlights on and burning into the fog, is roaring down the road at a far faster speed than the legal limit. It honks its horn once, and then twice, and it takes Murphy a second to realize the horn is directed towards him. He steps to the side of the road just as the truck flies past him, not slowing down for a second, not even when it passes his still-steaming car a little ways away. 

Murphy bites his lip as he watches the truck fade into the distance, and then turns back to look at the sleepy town in front of him. He’s a federal agent - he would be well within his rights to stop the truck or report its license plate, but he does no such thing. All he feels is a newfound sense of curiosity lighting in his chest. “Alright, Sanctum,” he mutters, “maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Nobody answers him. He realizes, then, that he’s talking to the air on the side of the road. Quickly, he looks around, making sure that there’s nobody around who could have heard him, and then he continues on down his way. 

His walk is once more drenched in silence until he makes it to the entrance to the town itself. The road begins to narrow, and finally a real sidewalk is available at the side of the road. Small, old buildings are now visible, lining the main road a long ways down. The only side street he can see has an obnoxiously big sign, declaring that  _ The harbour is this way!  _ Murphy suspects that this is one of those towns with one long street and nothing else to it, and already, he feels incredibly bored. 

Even here on the street, fog still rolls by, and as Murphy walks further he can’t help but feel slightly refreshed by the ocean breeze that passes him. It’s calming, almost, and even though the sky looks more grey than blue, he figures that maybe this is why people choose to live by the sea. Almost confirming his suspicions, he starts to see the silhouette of a few people milling about the street through the fog. 

Murphy takes a couple of steps more down the sidewalk, and his eyes catch view of someone standing quite close to him. He’s tall, and he’s wearing a dark, puffy jacket over his shoulders that seems far too thick for the current weather. His curly hair rustles in the breeze, so much so that it’s going all over the place, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. No, what’s most intriguing about him is that despite the fact he’s standing in the middle of the road, he’s nose-deep in a very thick, very old-looking book. 

For a couple seconds, Murphy does nothing but stare at the man, who is very slowly making his way down the road, only looking up from his book a couple of times to check where he’s going. It’s amusing, and honestly, somewhat adorable.  _ Only in a small town,  _ Murphy thinks, and then he moves closer, set on asking the man where he could find Sanctum’s police station, when he hears the car coming. 

The headlights are the first thing he sees as they pierce through the thick fog, so bright that it seems they’re intent on setting everything in their path alight. The engine roars through the quiet ambience of the town and he hears a couple of people cry out in surprise at the disturbance. Somehow, though, the man in front of him only glances up, and then returns his gaze to the book. 

The car comes closer, now visible as it races up the street, heading out of town. Much like the truck from before, it’s driving far too fast and more recklessly than it should be. Murphy glances at the car, and then at the man in the road, and he realizes what’s about to happen. 

“Hey!” he calls out, and the man glances up at him, blinking in surprise. Still, he doesn’t move, the book still open in his hands. The car comes closer, showing no sign of stopping, and only now does the man seem to realize what’s going on, but he’s too close. There’s no time for him to move, and they both know it. 

It’s easy, really. Murphy does what he’s been trained his whole life to do. He lunges forwards, takes a hold of the fabric of the man’s jacket, and drags him back towards the sidewalk. The car races past, showing no signs of stopping even for a moment, as if the driver has no clue as to what they almost did. “Watch it, asshole!” Murphy yells loudly as it passes, but he gets no response or reaction. 

He turns his attention to the man, who still has yet to say a word. Perhaps he’d pulled him out of the way a little too hard, as he’d lost his footing, and now is sitting at the edge of the sidewalk, surprise still etched on his face. The book lays face-down next to him on the curb. “Here,” Murphy says, reaching down to offer him a hand. The man takes it and slowly stands, though he takes the time to retrieve the book first. 

“Thank you,” he finally says as he stands, dusting himself off. 

“Sure thing,” Murphy replies, casting a curious eye over the man. There’s something about him that’s caught his attention, and he can’t for the life of him figure out what that something is. “Maybe be more careful if you’re going to read in the middle of the road.”

The man runs a hand through his hair, looking slightly sheepish as he grins. “Right. Yeah, I’ll remember that.”

Murphy smiles, but it quickly falls from his face as he looks down. The man’s jacket has slid to one side and it’s revealed a small handgun in a holster at his waist, almost shining as it sits there.  _ Ah, fuck,  _ Murphy thinks, but then he stiffens, steps back and draws his own weapon. The man’s eyes instantly narrow and he takes out his gun, pointing it at Murphy, and suddenly the two of them are engaged in a standoff on the side of the street in the middle of town.

Murphy’s starting to think this might not have been the best move on his part, but he can’t forget why it is that he’s here in the first place, and he keeps to his training. “You want to tell me why you’re carrying that?” he asks, making his voice as authoritative as he can. 

“How about you tell me first?” the man replies, his voice just as steely. He holds the gun un-shakingly in his right hand, and keeps the book in his left. 

“I’m FBI,” Murphy says. “Who are you?”

“Sanctum PD. Who are you?”

Murphy blinks, pausing only for a second. “I  _ just  _ said, FBI.”

The man tilts his head in a shrug. “And how am I supposed to know that?”

He rolls his eyes, though he’s starting to suspect the man in front of him  _ is  _ telling the truth - only a local cop would conduct themself this way. “For starters, this is government issue,” he says, looking at the gun he’s holding to gesture it, “and they also give us one of these.” 

Murphy starts to reach into the pocket of his own jacket to show the man his badge, but he’s stopped by the man speaking once more. “Keep your hands where I can see them, alright?”

“What am I going to do? Pull out another gun?”

The man thinks on this, and then nods, allowing him to keep going. With a sign, Murphy pulls out his badge. The man looks at for a second, and then nods, slowly holstering his weapon once more. “Alright,” he says, “you are FBI, then.”

“Yes, genius, I know,” Murphy says, though he keeps his gun level. “I showed you mine, it’s time for you to show me yours.”

The man concedes, using his now-free hand to pull out his own badge from his jacket pocket. Sure enough, it labels him -  _ Bellamy Blake _ \- as an officer in the town of Sanctum. “This good enough for you?”

Murphy nods, and then he holsters his own weapon. Thankfully, they hadn’t drawn a crowd, and for the first time he’s glad that the town is this small and sleepy. “So - are all your drivers that reckless?”

The man, Bellamy, adopts a small grin on his face, but there’s something behind his eyes that says there’s more to this story than meets the eye. “Only this time of year,” he says. 

“Right,” Murphy says, slowly, but he decides not to press the issue. After all, he’s here on business, not pleasure. “Well - if you’re not too busy with that book of yours, you mind taking me to the station? I need to talk to your chief officer.”

“Of course you do,” Bellamy says. He starts to walk down the sidewalk, gesturing for Murphy to follow him. “All you bigshots are the same. No time for the little guy.”

It’s far from a compliment, but Murphy laughs all the same. “What, are you saying that you’re the little guy?”

“Not in this town,” he replies, “but to you? Absolutely.”

“Ah, please. I don’t even know you yet. I can’t pass judgement.”

“We’ve pointed our guns at each other. Surely that’s enough for you.”

Murphy raises an eyebrow, smiling softly. “Buy me dinner first, why don’t you?”

Bellamy clicks his tongue, and he’s about to respond, when there’s a sudden crackle of radio static. He quickly picks up a radio from his belt that Murphy hadn’t noticed before, as it blends in with his dark jacket.  _ “Possible 11-24,”  _ someone is saying on the radio, and Murphy feels his cheeks flush slightly as he realizes what’s going on.  _ “Just outside the entrance to town. No sign of an accident, but the engine’s fried, and it looks like the driver just walked away.”  _

Before Bellamy can reply, Murphy nudges him with a sign. “The car’s mine,” he says, quietly. 

Bellamy raises a brow, saying nothing into the radio. “And yet you pass judgement on the drivers in town?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to leave it there forever, but then someone pointed a gun at me,” he snaps back, not sure if he’s annoyed just because he’s been forced to come to this town, or because a local cop has gotten the better of him. 

“Of course. Perfectly reasonable excuse,” Bellamy replies, and then he laughs, and after a moment, Murphy can’t help but laugh, too. He pockets the radio, and Murphy realizes that despite the very thick jacket on his shoulders, he’s wearing no gloves. 

“Which is it?” Murphy asks, glancing back at his exposed hands. 

Bellamy’s brow furrows. “Which is what?”

“Are you hot or are you cold?”

“You think I’m hot?”

“Shut up,” Murphy says, jokingly, though his curiosity doesn’t waver. “Seriously, though - it’s an odd fashion choice, that’s all I’m saying.”

Bellamy pauses. He’s still holding the book in one hand, but he lifts his free hand up higher, curling and uncurling the fingers a few times and looking at them carefully. “Can’t be too careful,” is all he says, which answers exactly none of Murphy’s questions. 

“Sure,” he sighs, turning his attention back to the task at hand. There’s something not quite right about this town, he knows that for a fact - but he isn’t sure he wants to stick around long enough to find out exactly what that is. 

* * *

It doesn’t take them long to make it to the police precinct, mostly because everything in Sanctum is within walking distance of everything else. All of the town’s buildings look the same to him, too - they’re all old, and clearly haven’t been updated in many, many years. The further he gets into the town, the more he feels as though he’s entered somewhere completely out of time, standing by itself regardless of what’s happening in the rest of the world. 

His meeting with the police chief, a man named Kane, doesn’t last long either. It’s very clear that Murphy’s presence isn’t welcome here, but it’s tolerated because it has to be, and so Kane grants him privileges to do whatever he needs to do in town and speak with whoever he needs to speak to. It was one of the easier meetings he’s been to, until, of course, Kane tells him that Officer Blake is going to be with him every step of the way. 

“Think of him as your partner,” the chief says. 

“With all due respect, I don’t need a partner.”

“Well, I think you do.”

Murphy sighs in frustration. “I don’t need to agree to this. I’m on FBI business - you can call up my boss whenever you want, and he’ll confirm that to you.”

Kane looks up at him, and it’s clear he’s not giving an inch on this. “Oh, I will be,” he says, “but in the meantime - consider this a courtesy to the town. If you’re going to come in here and disrupt our business, then I am going to insist that one of my officers accompany you.” 

There’s two ways he could go, here, and neither of them he particularly likes. If he insists not to take Bellamy with him, then he’s out of favour with the local police and, likely, the people of the town as well - and he needs them to be willing to talk to him. Yet, taking Bellamy along with him isn’t too enchanting of an idea either. Something about him is unsettling, in a sense that Murphy can’t quite figure out yet. 

“Fine,” he finally says. “I will take him with me - but I promise, I am trying to leave as soon as I can.”

Kane doesn’t react to this either. He only hums his agreement, as if he knew all along that Murphy would agree to his terms, and he, too, wants him gone as quickly as possible. Figuring he should leave while he’s ahead, Murphy steps out of the chief’s office, quietly closing the door behind him. When he turns around, though, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Bellamy standing right next to him. 

“Hi,” he says, grinning like a fool. The book is gone, but the jacket still hangs off his shoulders despite the fact they’re now indoors. “I heard you’re my partner now.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Murphy mutters. “I just need to talk to a few people, that’s it, and then I’m leaving this town.”

Bellamy just keeps grinning. “Sure,” he says. “First, though, we have a body to go see.”

“No,” Murphy says, “we do not. I told you, I just need to-”

“Go talk to a few people, yeah, I heard you,” he says, cutting him off, “but we’re partners, and I need to go see a dead body that’s been found, so it looks like you’re coming with me.”

Murphy pauses in surprise. He wasn’t sure what would happen with this arrangement, but he wasn’t expecting Bellamy to try and take control of it. “I’m FBI,” he says slowly. “I outrank you - by, like, a lot.”

“You’ve mentioned,” Bellamy says, but he turns away, leaving him no choice but to follow. 

“This is not how I was expecting today to go,” he calls out, though he catches up to the officer and falls in step beside him. 

“You’ve mentioned that, too,” he replies. “Now - I never got your name.”

“It’s Murphy.”

“Well then, Murphy,” Bellamy says, “welcome to Sanctum. You’re going to love it here.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he sighs, but neither of them say anything more about it. Instead, they walk in silence as Bellamy leads him to the coroner’s office, a tiny, grey room with nothing much in it except for an examination table and several paintings hung up on the walls. 

Two women are already in the room when they get there. One of them reclines against the wall in the corner of the room, while the other wears a lab coat and is standing by the examination table, which is currently filled with the very dead body of a man.

“Bellamy, good to see you,” the one wearing the lab coat says. “And - you brought a friend.”

“He’s not my friend,” Murphy says, quickly, though he’s not sure why he feels the need to assert that. In response, the woman laughs, though the other one leaning against the wall doesn’t react at all, keeping her arms crossed and her expression flat. 

Bellamy glances at him, smiling all the same. “I think I’ll change your mind,” he says, and for a moment as he stares at him, it feels like the two of them are the only ones in the room - but then he looks away and the moment is shattered. “This is Clarke, our medical examiner, and over there in the corner is Lexa, her wife. Clarke, Lexa, this is Murphy - as I’m sure he’ll tell you many times, he works for the FBI.”

Murphy glares at him for only a second before looking away, deciding he’s got bigger issues to worry about than the attitude of a small town cop. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. 

Clarke smiles at him, though Lexa’s gaze remains steely. “You’re FBI?” she asks. 

“Yeah, I am.”

Lexa glances over at Clarke for a second, and then looks back at him. “And what does the FBI want with Sanctum?”

“Lex, it’s fine,” Clarke says, quickly. “I’m sure Murphy is just passing through - right?”

He looks between the two of them, trying to figure out what they aren’t saying, but he can’t puzzle it out, not yet. “Sort of,” he replies. “I’m just looking for some people, that’s all.”

“You won’t find them here.”

“Lex,” Clarke repeats, looking over at her wife. Some sort of silent communication passes between the two of them, and Murphy has the sense that this feeling of being out of the loop is going to become very familiar to him very quickly. Everyone in this town, it seems, is keeping a secret - but he’s not sure if he should bother trying to find out what it is. 

Lexa rolls her eyes, but she still doesn’t move away from the wall. “Who is it, then?” she asks. “Who are you looking for? We can prove to you that they aren’t here, and then you can be on your way.”

He bites his lip for just a moment. “And why is it that you want me gone so quickly?”

“Maybe I’m just not a fan of the government being where they aren’t needed - or wanted.”

“I won’t be here long,” he says, keeping his voice low, “unless I find something that means I have to stay.”

Lexa’s about to respond, when Bellamy steps in. “Actually - why are you here?”

“What, Kane didn’t tell you?”

“No, he did not,” Bellamy says, and the way he says it makes it clear that Kane’s not someone who tells a lot of people a lot of things. 

Murphy looks at the room, and then shakes his head. “It’s confidential.”

“Oh, please,” Bellamy laughs, “I’m your partner, at least for now, so that gives me clearance - and Clarke and Lexa have clearance for all Sanctum matters, too. Your business here counts as a Sanctum matter, right?”

“Sure,” Murphy says, slowly. He knows he shouldn’t reveal his motives, not here with civilians, but something about Bellamy’s insistence makes him want to. He’s never felt like this on any of his assignments, but the more he thinks about it, the more Sanctum is pulling him in - he wants to know its people and, most importantly, he wants to know its secrets. 

“So?” Bellamy asks, pressing him. “What business does the FBI have with Sanctum?”

“I’m looking for Charmaine Diyoza,” he says. “Do any of you know her?”

The three of them glance at each other, a heavy silence falling over the room. They know something, that much is clear - but what, exactly, he can tell he’ll have to work to discern. “Her daughter lives here,” Clarke finally says. 

“Hope, yeah, I know,” he replies. “I’ve got information that she’s returned to Sanctum, possibly to reunite with her daughter.”

Bellamy nods, slowly, biting his lip in deep thought. “Well, Hope just returned from out of town a couple days ago,” he says, “but I haven’t seen her mother in years. Why are you looking for her?”

“Because,” he says, and though he hesitates to say more, Murphy figures he’s revealed too much already and he might as well finish, “she’s wanted for five different murders across the country.” 

Immediately, the temperature in the room drops at least ten degrees. Murphy thinks he’s imagining it but then he shivers, and when he exhales, he can see his breath in front of him. “Bad air conditioning,” Clarke says, very quickly, looking over at Lexa. 

Lexa’s closed her eyes, and she’s pressing her nails into the palms of her hands, so tightly that her fingertips have turned white. “I’m sorry,” Murphy says, “I didn’t want to upset anyone.”

“It’s fine,” Clarke replies, though she isn’t really paying attention to him. Instead, she keeps watching Lexa, relaxing only when her wife finally opens her eyes and relaxes her hands, the room returning to a somewhat normal temperature moments later. He looks over at Bellamy for answers, but he notices that he’s the only one who didn’t seem to notice the cold in the slightest. 

Murphy pauses, glancing up at the ceiling, and seeing no signs of vents or that the room has any kind of air conditioning at all. “You should really get that fixed,” he says, knowing he shouldn’t press further, not yet, even though he can’t for the life of him figure out what’s just happened. 

“We’re working on it,” Clarke agrees, but her expression is troubled. 

He looks over at Lexa, who seems even less relaxed than she had before. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” she replies, far too quickly. “I just don’t like the cold.”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one,” he says, softly, glancing over at Bellamy once more. The tips of his ears are still tinged pink from the sudden temperature change, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. 

“Anyway, enough about all this,” Clarke says. It’s clear she’s rushing to change the subject, but he lets her. “You’re here for him, aren’t you?”

“We are,” Bellamy agrees, coming closer to the examination table with the dead body on top of it. “What can you tell us?”

“Carl Emerson, 38. He was found close to the cliffs,” she says. “No sign of an accident or an attack - I think it’s a heart attack, but he seems far too young. Pass me that scalpel, would you?”

Bellamy keeps on asking questions as he grabs the scalpel to pass to her and begin the autopsy, while Murphy turns away, keeping an ear open to listen to their conversation but looking around the room as he does so. The paintings around the room keep drawing his attention. Now that he’s got a proper chance to look at them, he can tell that they’ve all been done by the same person, and each one of them is hung inside of a glass case, so that he couldn’t touch their surfaces even if he wanted to. 

One in particular grabs his attention, hung in the center of one of the walls. It’s a landscape painting, done of a town, and he realizes as he gets closer that it’s of Sanctum itself. All of the details are evident, from the main street to the large harbour. It’s intricate, and he can tell that whoever did it spent a very long time on making it perfect. 

“Careful,” Lexa says, watching him closely as he approaches the painting. Now that he’s practically next to her, he realizes that she’s still holding herself with lots of tension, as if she’s scared of something in the room - though he can’t tell what that could be. 

“It’s protected behind glass,” he says, gesturing to the painting. “What am I going to do?”

Lexa looks at the painting, and then at him, the indents of her nails visible in the palms of her hands. Her fear is palpable, and the closer he gets to her, the colder it feels. “Just be careful,” she repeats. 

He wants to ask more, even just to check that she’s alright, when Clarke cries out from behind them. “Bellamy, you’re bleeding!”

Bellamy curses, and as Murphy walks over to them, he sees that she’s right - there’s a long gash in Bellamy’s hand, and it’s dripping blood onto the floor. “Must have been when I grabbed the scalpel,” he says, though he doesn’t seem particularly fazed by the wound. 

“That’s got to hurt,” Murphy says, wincing in sympathy pain. 

“No, it’s fine,” Bellamy says, even as Clarke grabs a bandage from a drawer. “I don’t even feel it.”

“Sure thing, tough guy,” he replies, scoffing at the words. Small or not, the cut is deep enough that it’s still bleeding, even as Clarke covers the wound. 

Bellamy grins, though he says nothing more about it. “You’ve got to be more careful,” Clarke says, quietly. “Especially now.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bellamy agrees, and once again, Murphy gets the sense that there’s a lot more being said here that he’s not privy to. “Thank you - let us know what you find out about Emerson, alright? If there’s no evidence of foul play, it probably was a heart attack, but we’ll ask around.”

“Sure thing,” Clarke says. Murphy looks down at the body once more, seeing no sign of foul play himself, but he does notice a thick tattoo on the corpse’s left wrist. It’s of a swirling circle with small symbols that he doesn’t recognize on each corner. He’s never seen anything like it before, and can’t for the life of him figure out what it’s supposed to mean. 

“This tattoo looks fresh,” he points out. “Have either of you ever seen anything like this before?”

Bellamy looks down at the drawing, and then shakes his head. “No,” he says, “but it is odd, that’s for sure.”

“Doesn’t really mean much,” Clarke says, “just that Emerson here had an odd taste of body decor.” 

“True,” Murphy agrees, but something about the tattoo seems to draw him in and demand his attention. He can’t place it, but he feels like he’s seen the symbol somewhere before - but that can’t be possible. He’d remember having seen an image that distinctive. 

Bellamy hums, checking the cut on his hand once more, clearly satisfied once he sees that it’s stopped bleeding. “Right, then,” he says. “You need to find the Diyozas, and I need to go check the cliffs, where Emerson died. Lucky for us, Hope lives right by the cliffs, and they are all the way across town.”

“How is that lucky for us?”

“We can go sight-seeing, of course,” Bellamy replies, as if this is obvious. 

“I really don’t have time-”

“Sure you do,” he says. “Besides, everyone in Sanctum knows everyone. Meeting the locals and seeing all the spots in town is going to help you more than you think.”

Murphy sighs, not seeing a way out of this one since he’s been burdened with taking Bellamy along with him. “Oh, fine,” he says. “Show me around your town, then, if you must.”

“I must,” Bellamy says, thanking Clarke and Lexa. Murphy gives them a wave on his way out as well, both of them politely smiling at him as he closes the door to the medical examiner’s office. 

Just before they’re about to leave, Murphy glances down at Bellamy’s hand, looking at the cut and the bandage. “You sure that’s okay?” he asks, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s reaching down and gently taking hold of his hand, lifting it so he can see the wound. Bellamy says nothing - he only stares at him, wide-eyed as Murphy gently holds his hand, checking the cut until he’s satisfied that it is, indeed, fine. Even as he lets him go, he says nothing at all, only blinking at him in pure and utter surprise. 

“What?” Murphy asks. “What is it?”

Bellamy exhales, softly, and then shakes his head in wonderment. “Nothing,” he says, though that is obviously not the case. “I, uh - nothing at all. Let’s go.” Quickly, and without further words, Bellamy turns away and quickly begins walking down the street, an urgency in his stride that had never been there before. 

Murphy watches him go for only a moment, not sure of what just happened between the two of them, but he knows, without a doubt, he wants to figure it out. He’s only met a few people in this town, but there are more secrets here and more skeletons in closets than he knows what to do with, but - it’s intriguing. For the first time since he’d become a federal agent, Murphy himself feels a genuine sense of wonder, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Sanctum might have more to offer him than he once believed. 

“Hey, wait up!” he calls out to Bellamy, quickly catching up to him. “You alright?”

“Of course,” Bellamy replies. The shock is gone, and he seems just like he did when Murphy had first met him - though now, it’s clear to him that this happy-go-lucky persona of his is a facade. 

For reasons that are beyond him, he wants to know who Bellamy is without all the exterior, and he wants to know the truth about him - but he knows he’ll have to wait to find all that out. For now, he’s got to be content with being shown around a seaside town, so full of fog that he still can barely see down to the end of the street. Just an hour ago, Murphy would have contested this, and done all he could to avoid being stuck in this town for longer than he has to be - but now, he’s starting to think maybe it won’t be all that bad. 

“Okay, then,” Murphy says, “lead on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked the intro!


	2. use your time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "but use your time,  
> And while ye may, go marry;  
> For having lost but once your prime,  
> You may forever tarry."

Bellamy’s seemingly back to his normal self as they walk down the main street of town, as if he’s completely forgotten about the odd moment that passed between the two of them only minutes before. Murphy’s not one to press about these kinds of things, but he can’t deny the curiosity that he feels about the cop next to him and everyone else in this town. There’s something here, he can tell. There is something here that’s been buried far beneath a web of secrets and lies, and he so desperately wants to know the truth. 

Yet, as they walk further through the town, the more doubt about that theory he begins to feel. Sanctum appears to be a sleepy seaside town, and outside of some odd interactions with the locals, there isn’t yet evidence of there being anymore to it. Murphy, though, is not one to give up that easily. “So, tell me,” he says, both wanting to uncover more information and fill the silence that’s fallen between them, “why does a town as small as this need its own police force, huh?”

“The same reason any city does - to help the people.”

“Sure, but there can’t be all that much crime, can there be? Not with a population this small.”

Bellamy chuckles softly, though about what, he’s not sure. “There aren’t any other towns for miles,” he finally replies. “So we’re in charge of all that area, too. You never know when someone might leave their broken down car at the side of the road, right?”

Murphy grins, shrugging his shoulders in concession. “Fair point. How many of you are there, then? How many cops does a town like this need?”

He doesn’t miss the way his eyes narrow at the question. “Who’s asking?”

“Relax,” Murphy says, quickly, looking him up and down and trying to figure out why he’s so tense. “I wasn’t sent here for you or your force. It’s just small talk.”

Bellamy pauses, but eventually his shoulders fall and he nods. “There’s enough of us,” is all he says. 

“Sure,” he replies. “Gives you enough time to catch up on your reading while you work, huh?”

He’s joking, but Bellamy doesn’t laugh. Rather, his voice grows quiet as he nods and says, “Like I said, there’s enough of us. Look - here’s another one.” Then, he gestures further down the street where two people are standing together outside the door of one of the buildings that line that road. 

Murphy looks at him curiously, but then lets the subject drop and turns his attention to the two people Bellamy had pointed out. Neither of them are dressed in any sort of uniform, though it’s obvious which one is police by the way he stands. “Bellamy,” says the cop, smiling in greeting as they get closer. 

“Hey, Miller,” Bellamy replies, and then nods in greeting to the other man standing there. “How’s business, Jackson?”

Jackson rolls his eyes at this. “Really? We’re still going with that?”

“Sorry, babe - that’s what happens when you marry a cop,” Miller replies, putting his arm around Jackson’s shoulder and laughing with nothing but affection in his voice. 

“Yeah, I really should have seen that coming,” Jackson concedes, but he’s smiling, too, evidence that whatever the issue is, he really doesn’t mind. “And business is  _ fine _ , thank you for asking.”

Only then do the two of them seem to notice Murphy’s presence, and Miller nods in greeting. “Oh, hey - I heard someone new was in town.”

“You did?” Murphy asks. He hasn’t been in town for more than an hour, at most. 

“News travels fast,” Jackson says, before offering a hand which Murphy shakes. “I’m Eric, regardless of what these two will tell you.”

Bellamy laughs, and then laughs slightly harder at Murphy’s confusion, though he does pause to explain. “Miller works with me,” he says. “His name is Nathan - but we used to have two Nathans on the force, so we called them both by their last names, even when the other one left. And as soon as he and Jackson got together, well - it just became a running joke.”

“The joke that I can’t get free of,” Jackson comments. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Murphy,” he says, keeping what Bellamy had told him before close in mind. Knowing the locals and staying on their good side would, undoubtedly, help him on his business here. 

“Yeah, he’s FBI,” Bellamy tells them, using the same tone he’d used when he’d told Clarke and Lexa the exact same thing. 

Murphy glares at him for just a second. “I’m perfectly capable of telling people that myself, you know.”

“I know,” Bellamy replies, leaving Murphy nothing to do but sigh exasperatedly. The mood seems to shift then, though, as if the fog is thickening as Bellamy is about to say something, second guesses himself and looks over at Murphy, but then keeps going anyways. “Jackson, I just - I just wanted to let you know that there’s been a death, so-”

“It’s really started,” Jackson finishes, nodding, though a kind of darkness seems to fall in his gaze. Miller’s grip on his shoulder tightens noticeably. 

Bellamy nods. “Same goes for you, Miller,” he says. “I know you’re careful, but I think - we can all say it’s for real, now.”

“I’m careful,” Miller promises, “don’t worry.”

Murphy looks between the three of them, waiting for answers that don’t seem to be coming. He’s only met a few people in this town, and so far, all of his interactions have gone strangely. “What’s started?”

“Oh, nothing,” Miller says. “Crime season, you know.”

“Crime season,” Murphy repeats. “Sure.”

Jackson smiles, though it seems pained. “It’s fine. This is why I switched jobs, right?” He looks over at Murphy, and then continues, “I used to be the medical examiner, but I’m a vet, now. I don’t work with people, not anymore.”

Murphy nods, trying to piece this all together. It’s odd, the way he’s phrased it -  _ I don’t work with people.  _ Medical examiners, by nature of the job, don’t have to work with people, either - not alive ones, anyway. Perhaps, it’s as simple as Jackson is just sensitive to death, but that doesn’t seem quite right. Still - he can recognize this isn’t the time to press, not when he doesn’t know what he’s missing. “This town really has everything, huh? A whole police force  _ and  _ a veterinarian’s office.”

“Oh, it really does,” Bellamy says. “Now - it was good to see you both, but we should be on our way. Murphy here tends to be impatient.”

Murphy’s about to rebut this, but it doesn’t seem like the couple in front of them care at all. “It was nice to meet you, Murphy,” Miller says. “We’ll be seeing you, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m not staying long,” he says, but Miller and Jackson have already turned away, crossing the street and becoming nothing more than silhouettes in the fog. He turns to Bellamy, then, who is watching them go. “That was weird, right?” he asks. 

“What was?”

“Don’t give me that. You know, that whole conversation. That was weird, wasn’t it?”

Bellamy moves his eyes from the fog to look at Murphy, for just a moment. There seems to be a thousand layers of unsaid words hidden in his gaze, but he’s not voicing any of them. “Not at all,” is all he says, his voice so soft it’s barely audible above the ocean breeze. With that, he turns and continues walking down the street, as if he just expects Murphy to follow without question. 

It’s not that he necessarily wants to, but - Murphy does. 

* * *

“Next stop is the town newspaper,” Bellamy announces, returning to his cheery demeanour. “It’s late in the day, but I’m sure Jasper and Monty will still be there.”

The sky is beginning to grow darker above them, indicating that they’re running out of daylight hours, but Murphy’s too busy thinking about other things to notice. “When you are going to tell me what’s going on here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“When you are going to drop the act?” he continues. “It’s obvious that everyone in this town knows something I don’t, and you’ve been pretty easy to read this whole time. There’s something going on here, so when are you going to tell me what that is?”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything at all in response. Instead, he stops in front of the door to the small building on the corner of the main street. “Here we are,” he says, pulling on the handle and holding the door open for him, gesturing over dramatically for Murphy to enter. 

“Fine,” he says, holding up his hands in a mock surrender as he steps into the building. “Don’t tell me. I’ll find out, sooner or later.”

“Find out what?” someone says. Murphy turns, realizing that the building he’s just walked into consists of one small room, and it’s currently already occupied by two people. One of them sits in a rolling chair behind a large wooden desk with two computer monitors on top of it, while the other, the one who spoke, stands by the opposing wall that’s covered with shelves, each one full to the brim with binders and papers. 

“Nothing, apparently,” he replies, just as Bellamy walks to meet his side, the door falling shut behind him. Knowing that if he doesn’t introduce himself, Bellamy will do it for him, he continues, “I’m Murphy.”

“He’s FBI,” Bellamy chimes in. 

“I can - oh, forget it,” he mutters. “What he said.”

The man sitting behind the desk breaks out into a grin. “Sanctum’s got the attention of the big leagues! Wow. Would never have guessed that.”

“Neither would I,” Murphy says, but he’s beginning to think that may not be entirely true anymore. 

“I’m Jasper,” he says, and then he gestures over to the other man, still standing by the shelves, “and that’s my husband, Monty.”

Murphy smiles. “Is everyone in this town married except for you, Bellamy?”

The cop bites his lip, laughing once, though he pauses to look Murphy in the eye before he speaks. “I guess I just haven’t met the right person.”

“Oh, I’m sure someone like you won’t have to wait too long.”

Bellamy’s eyebrow raises. “Someone like me?”

_ Someone who looks like that,  _ is what Murphy wants to say, but the words seem to get stuck in his chest. After several seconds of awkward silence, Jasper clears his throat, shattering the newly formed tension. “We run the newspaper around here, though I’m sure Bellamy already told you all about us.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was going to,” Murphy replies, and he tears his gaze away from Bellamy, though for some reason it’s not all that easy to look away. 

Jasper hums, reclining in his chair. “Tell me, Murphy - what do you think of our lovely town so far?”

It’s nothing more than a small talk question, meant to fill the silence, but Murphy isn’t sure how to respond. The truth is that he finds it rather ominous somewhat haunting, what with the constant rolling fog and the well of secrets each person seems to have, but he also doesn’t exactly want to get into that with two local strangers. “It’s nice,” is what he decides on. 

As soon as he speaks, Monty cries out, eyes shutting in obvious pain as he nearly falls over, only staying upright by grabbing one of the shelves and holding onto it with a vice-like grip. “Monty!” Jasper calls, standing up while Bellamy rushes over to him to help, speaking in hushed tones that Murphy can’t hear. 

“Whoa, are you alright?” Murphy asks, but Monty doesn’t answer him, too focused on whatever it is that Bellamy’s saying to him. 

“It’s okay,” Jasper says, after a pause, redirecting Murphy’s attention away from the situation and back to him. “It just - don’t worry about it, okay?”

Murphy looks back, once, only willing to move past it once he sees that Monty at least seems okay. “Sure,” he says. It’s none of his business, he’s sure, but once again he’s got that feeling that there’s far more going on here than it seems. “Um, so - you run the newspaper, then. I guess those are still popular in small towns like this, right?”

“Sort of,” Jasper says, sitting back down in the chair as Murphy leans against the desk, trying to ignore the whispers coming from the other side of the room that he can’t quite make out. “We used to actually print out each issue, but just a couple of years ago we moved it to an online publication. It’s a lot easier, actually - we just publish stories as we go, with no need to release issues or anything like that, and everything is automatically archived.”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty useful,” Murphy agrees. 

Jasper nods, the cheerful grin slowly sliding back onto his face. “It is,” he says. “We’ve got archives of the town’s history going back for almost a century, so - if you ever want to find out something about Sanctum, we’re the people to call.”

“I’ll remember that,” he says, though he’s not sure if he wants to stay in this town long enough to have to take Jasper up on his offer. 

“They’ve started again, for real, then,” he hears Monty say, his voice having raised in volume just slightly, but enough so that Murphy is able to hear him. Bellamy replies only by nodding, but Murphy’s eyes narrow, remembering how just minutes before a similar conversation had occurred between the cop and Jackson.  _ It’s really started,  _ the vet had said. Monty has to be referring to the same thing, though by his tone and the amount of worry Jackson had when he’d said it, whatever’s started in this town isn’t a good thing. 

Jasper clearly isn’t listening to the hushed conversation, and he just keeps smiling as he sticks out his hand, offering it to shake. “It was nice meeting you, Murphy,” he says, “or - should I be calling you Agent Murphy?”

“Just Murphy is fine,” he replies, holding out his hand to take the one offered. 

“Jasper, wait!” Monty suddenly calls out from across the room, but whatever he’s warning him about, it’s too late. The instant their hands make contact, a slight shock passes over Murphy’s skin. It’s not enough to hurt in the slightest, but it’s surprising enough that he draws his hand back on instinct. 

The man in front of him seems less surprised, though he blinks a couple of times, a sense of wonderment dawning his eyes. “Huh,” he says, slowly lowering his hand. “That’s - huh. Alright, then.”

Murphy’s not sure what to say. “Um - are  _ you _ alright?”

“Me? Oh, I’m great,” Jasper says, though he’s still staring at him as if Murphy’s suddenly grown a tail right in front of him. “That’s - do you need anything? I have to talk to my husband.”

“No, I’m alright,” Murphy replies slowly, glancing over at the other side of the room, where Bellamy and Monty have ended their whispered conversation. 

“I just wanted to let you know what was happening,” Bellamy says, “but Monty can fill you in. I’ll see you both later, alright?”

Monty nods, and Jasper waves, and with that Bellamy walks briskly out of the room. Murphy takes his lead and follows him out, but just before he’s about to step back onto the street, Jasper calls out once more. “Hey, Murphy?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not from Sanctum, are you? You’ve never been here before?”

Murphy pauses, not sure of the relevance of the question. “Um, no - I’ve never been here before.”

This doesn’t seem to satisfy Jasper, but he nods. With a slight hesitation, Murphy steps out of the building, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft  _ click.  _ “Okay,  _ that  _ was weird,” he says to Bellamy, who is standing on the sidewalk, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t weird.”

Bellamy pauses, but he shrugs. “Yeah, it was weird.”

He waits for an explanation that is clearly not coming. “What the hell is going on in this town, Bellamy? What has everyone so freaked out?”

“It’s a tough time,” is all he says. 

“You’re not helpful, like, at all. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Bellamy smirks. “I mean, you just did, so.”

Murphy rolls his eyes, but he keeps walking down the street at his side. He keeps reminding himself that it’s none of his business as to what’s going on here, and that he’s only here to see if Charmaine Diyoza ever made it to this town or not, but he knows he won’t be satisfied until he unconvers the truth. Yet, he also knows he won’t get anywhere by pestering the local police, so he resorts to the other thing he knows how to do well - mockery. “It’s not even cold, you know.”

There’s a pause. “It isn’t?”

“Not really,” he says, gesturing to how Bellamy’s hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jacket that’s far too thick for the season they’re in. “So, what’s with that?”

Bellamy hums, drawing his hands out of his pockets and looking them over carefully. “I thought they looked cold.”

“You know, people generally just feel it when they’re cold. They don’t have to  _ look  _ for it.”

“I must be losing my touch,” Bellamy comments, and then he breaks out into a wide grin as if what he’s said is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Murphy does nothing but stare in confusion, deciding that out of everything that he’s seen today, this interaction might just be the oddest thing yet. 

He’s so caught up in this that he doesn’t realize they’re standing in front of a small hotel until Bellamy stops walking. “What are we doing here?” Murphy asks, glancing up at the building that can’t hold more than three or four rooms, at the most. 

“This is your stop,” Bellamy tells him, already turning around to leave. “We’ll keep going in the morning, yeah?”

“Wait a second,” Murphy says, reaching forwards to grab his arm and stop his retreat. He only makes contact with the material of the jacket, but Bellamy seems to stare at his hand for far longer than necessary. “My work here is time-sensitive, you know. Are you telling me we wasted the whole day saying hello to some locals, and you didn’t even have any intention of taking me to the cliffs at all?”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, for a moment. Instead, he slowly reaches up and grabs Murphy’s hand with his own, gently pushing it off of his arm. It seems as though his breath hitches when their skin makes contact, though it’s getting dark, and Murphy can’t be sure of that. “We’ll keep going in the morning,” he repeats, and then he turns and walks away, vanishing into the fog. 

“Great,” Murphy mutters. “That’s great. Thank you so much.” He’s half a mind to call up his boss and request his immediate removal from this case, but he can’t deny that Bellamy’s got a point - the sun is setting, and it’s better that they continue their work in the daylight hours. 

With a great reluctance, Murphy turns around and enters the hotel doors. It’s fine - he’ll finish up his work tomorrow, and then he’ll leave this town and all its odd secrets in the past. It’s absolutely fine, and if the feeling of Bellamy’s hand brushing against his own replays in his mind the whole night, then that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

* * *

There’s a small park across the street from the hotel, and that’s where Murphy finds Bellamy the next morning. He’s sitting on a wooden bench near the middle of the green field, positioned so he’s looking at a small stone statue of a very young girl, the centerpiece of the park itself. 

“Good morning,” Murphy says as he sits down on the bench beside him. 

“Morning,” Bellamy replies, handing him a hot drink that Murphy takes gladly. “You seemed like a coffee guy to me. Did I guess right?”

“You did,” he says, glancing over and then laughing when he realizes that Bellamy’s holding an iced coffee himself. “Really? You take it iced in November?”

“Iced coffee doesn’t burn,” is all he says in response, though today he’s wearing a pair of gloves in addition to the thick puffy jacket. 

Murphy shakes his head in wonder. “You’re so worried about the cold, yet you drink iced coffee. Wow.”

“What can I say? I’m a complex guy.”

He can’t argue that point, so he only nods. “Are you ready to get going, or did you want to sight see some more?”

Bellamy smiles, though there’s a small amount of sadness behind it as he stares ahead, eyes focused on the small statue. There’s nothing odd about the piece that Murphy can tell - it’s made of simple grey stone, and it’s the image of a young girl around three years old or so, caught in the middle of a laugh. It’s a nice piece of art, though the longer he looks at it, the more it seems that the girls’ eyes are looking right at him. “We can do both at once,” Bellamy says, interrupting his thoughts.

Murphy’s about to say more, when he’s cut off by the arrival of someone else. “Mister Blake,” the voice says as the stranger approaches from behind them. “You’re here again, I see.”

“Of course I am,” Bellamy replies, sighing and glancing over at Murphy with a look that says he’d rather be anywhere else than in a conversation with whoever’s coming up to them. “I have reason to be. Why are  _ you _ here, Jaha?”

“I’m here to introduce myself,” he replies, stepping around the bench and coming into view. The man, Jaha, is tall and wears a dark shirt and jacket, with a white collar around his neck that marks him as a member of the clergy. “I heard we have a newcomer. Murphy, I believe?”

Murphy smiles thinly at him, though based off Bellamy’s reaction to his arrival, he feels a sense of unease. “I’m just passing through,” he says. 

Jaha stares at him for several seconds longer than feels necessary, but eventually he nods, adopting a warm demeanour that feels very thin. “Welcome to Sanctum,” he says, and then turns his gaze back to Bellamy. “I have not seen you at the church in a very long time, Mister Blake.”

“I only went for Echo, you know that.”

“She could use your support - especially in these  _ troubling  _ times.”

Bellamy raises his chin, giving Jaha an obvious show of defiance. “Isn’t that your job?”

“Perhaps,” Jaha says, “though - I am sure you could use some assistance, yourself.”

“I don’t prescribe to your particular faith, Jaha.”

“That much has always been clear. If you did, maybe you would no longer feel the need to come to this park every morning, now would you?”

Bellamy stands at this, anger and tension obvious in his stature. Murphy’s not about to get involved until he sees the way Bellamy’s hand is curling into a fist, and while he’s sure the cop can handle himself, he’s also sure that a public spectacle is not what he wants. “Whoa, hey,” he says, standing himself and placing his body in between Bellamy and Jaha, “let’s just go, yeah? We’ve got work to do.”

It looks like Bellamy is going to argue for a second, but then he sighs and nods, walking away and out of the park. “Wise choice, Mister Blake,” Jaha calls out, and then smiles slightly as he turns his focus to Murphy. “I hope to see you around, Mister Murphy,” he says. “This town could use the assistance of someone like you.”

He scoffs in response. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” he says. “I don’t like you, and I don’t like people  _ like  _ you. Alright?”

“Sanctum is more than it seems,” Jaha continues, as if he’d never even spoken. “I think you will find plenty reason to stay - and when you do want the answers to your questions, come and find me.”

Murphy just shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this,” he says, and then he follows Bellamy out of the park, ignoring Jaha’s stare as he goes. 

He catches up with Bellamy fairly quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder to at least slow down his brisk and angry walk. “I’m fine, Murphy,” he says, the telltale sign of someone who is very much not fine. 

“Jaha seems like a dick,” he says, and this gets Bellamy to stop and chuckle, albeit dryly. 

“He is,” Bellamy agrees. “I know I shouldn’t let him get to me like that.”

Murphy pauses, not sure if he should press further, but he decides that it’s better to ask than to pretend nothing happened. “It was the statue, right? It means something to you?”

“The statue, yeah,” Bellamy repeats, looking at the ground for a moment as he gathers himself. “The statue is my sister.”

“Oh,” Murphy says, softly, realizing what this means. He hadn’t seen an inscription or a commemoration of any sort in the park, so he hadn’t realized it was not a piece of art, but a memorial. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“She’s not dead.”

Murphy blinks, unsure of what to say to this. “Right. Okay.”

Bellamy bites his lip, and then shakes his head, the tension falling from his shoulders. “Let’s forget it, alright? We’ve got one stop to make at the harbour, and then after that we’ll go see the cliffs.”

He nods, conceding to Bellamy’s wishes. This issue between him and the priest is of a personal nature, and isn’t something to do with the secrets of the town, so he lets it drop. Without saying anything more, he gestures for Bellamy to take the lead, and soon they’re heading down the street and towards the harbour, falling into an easy pattern of walking side by side despite having met less than a day ago. 

If Murphy had turned around, he might have noticed how the statue of the little girl was no longer laughing, and that her stone features had moved into a frown - but he doesn’t look back, and it goes unseen. 

* * *

“Okay,” Murphy says as he stares out at Sanctum’s large harbour, “ _ now  _ it’s cold.” The ocean breeze that he’d felt all through town seems to be ten degrees colder and more intense now that they were so close to the ocean itself. 

“See? Better to be prepared,” Bellamy says, though he draws his jacket closer upon Murphy’s words. 

There’s a small set of stairs in front of them leading up from the street and onto the wooden dock, which Murphy climbs quickly, but as he looks back he sees Bellamy taking his time with each and every step. “You coming, Grandpa?”

“Shut up,” Bellamy grumbles. “I don’t want to fall.”

“It’s, like, five steps.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to  _ fall _ !”

Murphy looks at him, amused, but he just shrugs. “Alright, fine. Now, what are we looking for here?”

Finally, Bellamy makes it to the dock, and then he points across it to a large white boat that’s docked towards the end of it. “We’re looking for that.”

“A boat?” Murphy asks, taking a closer look. Nothing seems out of the ordinary about the boat at all. It’s mid-sized, and though it looks slightly old, it’s no worse for wear than any of the other boats docked. In large letters across the side of the white hull is the word  _ Rubicon.  _ As he’s looking, he sees two people close by the boat on the dock, loading several boxes into the ship. 

“Not the boat,” Bellamy replies, “but the people  _ on  _ the boat.”

From his expression, Murphy can tell this isn’t the first time Bellamy’s come up to the harbour in search of the owners of this boat in particular. “Alright,” he says. “Lead on, then.”

It’s not long before the two people that he’d noticed before see them coming and stop what they’re doing. “Officer!” one of them calls out. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Yeah, hi, Emori,” Bellamy sighs. The girl who’d spoken gives a dazzling smile in response, the kind of grin that only someone well practiced at faking it could pull off. The bandana she wears in her hair rustles in the wind, and much like Bellamy, she’s wearing a thick pair of gloves on her hands. By the way she’s stepping forwards to place herself in between them and their view of the boxes she’d been loading into the boat, it’s very clear to Murphy as to what’s going on here. For a moment, he thinks he’s probably obligated to report the very obvious smuggling operation, but for some reason he can’t puzzle out, he doesn’t want to. 

“Bellamy,” the other girl says, walking over to join the three of them. Her bright red jacket stands out against the blue and grey landscape, but most noticeably is the metal brace around her left leg. “You can’t stay away, huh?”

Bellamy sighs, somewhat dramatically, but he doesn’t respond to the comment. “Emori, Raven, meet Murphy.”

Murphy pauses, but Bellamy doesn’t say anything else. “What, you’re not going to say it?”

“Say what?”

He blinks, shaking his head in exasperation, but he turns his attention back to the two women. “I’m FBI. Nice to meet you.”

“FBI,” Emori repeats, her expression becoming more guarded than it was. Perhaps, he realizes, telling them that piece of information isn’t going to work in his favour. 

“What’s the FBI doing in Sanctum?” Raven asks, crossing her arms. 

Murphy glances over at Bellamy, who motions for him to go ahead. “I’m looking for someone,” he says. 

“Emori and Raven know everything about everything,” Bellamy says, filling the silence that descends. “They tell us what we need to know when we need to know it, and in return-”

“You look the other way,” Murphy finishes for him, gazing at the closed boxes behind the two women, wondering just what illegal material was inside of them. He can’t lie, though - it’s nice to finally be able to piece together something about this town on his own. This interaction with two smugglers is perhaps the most normal one he’s had since getting to this town. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emori says, quickly, though she’s grinning once more. 

“Oh, relax,” Murphy says, “I have bigger things to worry about than what you may or may not be smuggling, don’t worry.”

Emori taps her foot against the wood of the dock a couple times. “I don’t think I like you very much.”

“That’s fine,” he replies, somewhat appreciative of her honesty. “Can you tell me what you know about Charmaine Diyoza, anyway?”

“That’s who you’re looking for?”

“Yep.”

“You’re looking in the wrong place,” Raven cuts in. “Diyoza doesn’t live here, not anymore. She hasn’t been back in Sanctum for four or five years now.”

Murphy shrugs. “I have intel that says she is back.”

“I guess the FBI doesn’t know everything, then.”

“Oh, but you do?”

Raven smiles at his verbal challenge. “That’s right.”

“She actually kind of does,” Bellamy says. “Raven’s a mechanic - or, she used to be, before she moved onto the boat with Emori, and she is, hands down, the smartest person I have ever met - unfortunately.”

“I  _ am  _ a mechanic,” she replies. 

Bellamy gestures out at the dock. “Are you, though?”

“Oh, Bellamy’s just mad because he was second in our class - second only to me, of course,” Raven says, her eyes shining. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Let it go, Reyes.”

“You first.”

“Right,” Murphy interrupts, “anyway - are you  _ sure  _ you don’t know anything about Diyoza?”

Emori nods, somewhat stiffly. “We’re sure.”

“It would be so easy of me to call my boss and let them know that there’s a smuggling operation going on here, though, wouldn’t it?”

“Typical FBI,” she replies. “You don’t get what you want right away, so you resort to mindless threats.”

“Oh, it’s the opposite of mindless.”

Raven holds up her hand, indicating a mock-surrender. “Look - we really  _ don’t  _ know anything about Charmaine. But we do know that her daughter, Hope, hasn’t left her house in days, maybe even weeks at this point. She’d been out of town for a while and then she just suddenly showed up here and boarded herself inside, so if I were you, I’d spend my time checking that out.”

“If you were me.”

“Yeah,” she says, “but thankfully I’m not.”

Murphy scoffs, but truth be told, he’s more amused by the exchange than he is offended. If the situation were different, he thinks that Raven and Emori are people he’d want to be friends with - but he’s not in the position to be making small talk, not when there’s a job to do, and especially not right after he threatened them with getting them arrested. “Thank you,” he says. “Was that so hard?”

“Oh, yes,” Raven says. “Very difficult, in fact. I think we should be getting compensated for our time, don’t you think, ‘Mori?”

Emori grins. “I agree.”

Bellamy just shakes his head. “Yeah, in your dreams. Go on - carry on with your business. Murphy and I are going.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Emori calls out at them, but Bellamy’s already turning around and gently pulls Murphy along with him. 

“Well, that was fun,” Murphy says as they walk across the dock and then back down the stairs and into Sanctum’s streets. 

Bellamy sighs. “Sorry - I thought they’d have more to tell you than that. They really  _ do  _ know everything about everyone, though, I swear.”

“I’m not surprised,” he says, holding onto his still-warm coffee cup with both hands, unable to shake the cold from the ocean even as they walk away from it. “It’s like that in every town. The smartest people around are the ones to find the cracks in the system, and use them to get by.”

“I suppose,” Bellamy says with a shrug. “I think you might be thinking too hard about it, though.”

Murphy ponders this for a second, and then nods. “Yeah, you might be right about that, actually.”

“No matter,” he replies, “because it’s time to finally see the cliffs.” He gestures up, then, and when Murphy follows his direction, he sees a winding path in front of him that leads up to a rocky outcrop over the ocean. It’s a lot higher than he thought it would be, but he’s starting to realize that Sanctum is set on breaking all his expectations. 

“Great,” he says, sighing. “Up we go, then.”

* * *

The dirt path isn’t as long as it seems, but Bellamy is so slow on their climb that it takes them twice as long as it should. He’s carefully looking at every step before he takes it, and anytime a rock shifts beneath them, he stops entirely. “It’s not that steep,” Murphy says, on more than one occasion, but this does nothing to speed him up. 

Regardless of this, they do eventually make it to the top, where they’re met with nothing but grass and a few trees. Up here, the sound of the breeze seems far more intense, as if nature is trying to fill the foreboding silence. The cliffs themselves have no barrier or protection to stop someone from falling, but they’re tall enough that Murphy’s pretty sure a fall from them would be a death sentence. Maybe, he thinks, Bellamy’s got the right idea to watch his footing. 

Bellamy’s phone begins to ring, cutting through the ambience. “It’s Clarke,” he says. “Probably calling about Emerson. Give me a second.” He takes the call, stepping away, and so Murphy turns his attention back to the cliffs, when he sees it. 

In front of him is a perfect view of the ocean, stretching as far as the eye can see, yet as he blinks, a wall of fog appears out of thin air. The fog’s been drifting all through town the entire time he’s been here, yet now, it’s as if it’s collected itself together and formed a barrier. It’s no more than a mile out, but it sits on top of the ocean itself, and stretches out as far as he can see in either direction, curling around Sanctum. The fog moves and shifts and so he can see through the wall in places, and it doesn’t look solid, but it is a definitive barrier. 

“That is not natural,” he whispers, blinking several times to try and clear his vision. The wall of fog doesn’t disappear. 

“Emerson died of a heart attack,” Bellamy says, his call having ended, and now he walks until he’s standing at Murphy’s side. “So it looks like my job is done, but come on. I’ll show you where Hope lives.”

Murphy can’t take his eyes away from what’s in front of him. “Do - Do you see that?”

“See what?”

He gestures wildly in front of him. “ _ That! _ What on earth is that? How does that happen?”

Bellamy’s eyes narrow as he looks out towards the ocean, shaking his head for a moment, before he lets out a deep breath in realization. “Does it look like a wall of fog?”

“I - yeah, it does. Are you telling me you can’t see that?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll see it soon enough,” he sighs. 

“You know what it is?”

“I do.”

Murphy waits, but no explanation comes. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

It’s then that Bellamy looks back at him, eyes full of emotion that Murphy can’t name. “That depends. Are you staying?”

“Staying?”

“After you’re done finding out what you need to know here, are you going to stay in town?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

For a moment, Bellamy looks oddly hurt, but then he just nods. “Then I can’t tell you.”

“What does that  _ mean,  _ Bellamy?”

“If you’re not staying,” he says, “then it doesn’t mean anything to you, and that’s all there is to it. Let’s go see Hope.”

He doesn’t say another word, and only turns, heading further down the dirt path that had taken them up to the cliffs in the first place. Murphy moves to say more, but the words die in his throat. What is he supposed to say to that? This town is full of things that he can’t explain, but that everyone else seems alright with - and he doesn’t know how he’s meant to process it. 

Really, as he sees it, he’s got two choices. He could leave now, and find a ride out of town and never look back, or he could follow Bellamy and finish his job, and  _ then  _ find a ride out of town and never look back. It’d be nice, he thinks, to have a job to go back to when he leaves Sanctum in his dust. 

Or, he thinks - he could stay. The thought is more enticing than he likes, though, and he quickly dismisses it, vowing to leave behind the town of secrets and walls of fog as fast as he can. 

So, he does the only thing it seems he knows how to do of late - he follows Bellamy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i wanted to post the second chapter pretty quickly, as it's a lot of exposition as well (i know, i'm sorry), but now all the key players have been introduced and everything is set in place to move forwards. so i hope you like how the story is going so far and the set-up for it! those who have seen haven (hi, charlie) might have recognized some stuff, but i hope it's also clear at this point i'm deviating greatly from its plot, so like i said before - no need to have seen or know anything about haven to read this fic. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who left lovely comments on the last chapter, they mean the world to me for real so thank you :)


	3. my time to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come near; I would, before my time to go,  
> Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:  
> Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days."

“Hey!” Murphy calls, racing down the dirt path, stopping only when he catches up to Bellamy’s stride. The cop doesn’t even attempt to slow down. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, the wind buffeting off the sleeves of his thick jacket. Once upon a time, and perhaps only hours previous, he might have found this endearing, but now the sight fills him with annoyance. 

“I’m talking to you, jackass,” he says, picking up speed and stepping in front of him, forcing them both to stop. The anger builds as he sees how uncaring Bellamy’s expression is about the whole thing, and when he still doesn’t get a response, he lashes out and shoves his shoulder. Murphy swears it wasn’t that hard, but Bellamy stumbles back a couple of steps, looking at his shoulder and then the palm of Murphy’s hand for a few beats. 

Bellamy blinks at him, his right hand moving up to take hold of the shoulder that Murphy had just pushed. “That hurt,” he says, somewhat miffed. 

“Good,” Murphy snaps. He’s not sure why he’s taking this so personally, but the longer he looks at the cop’s face, the more frustrating this whole ordeal becomes. To top it all off, Bellamy clearly knows the answer as to why a wall of fog is descending onto Sanctum, and if there’s one thing Murphy can’t handle, it’s a small town police force knowing more than he does. “Care to explain?”

Bellamy only hums, though he’s still rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly. “I already did.”

“Try again.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” he says, “unless you promise me that you’re staying here for the long term.”

Murphy sighs, long past exasperation. “So, what? You’re telling me that yes, you know exactly what’s going on in this town and why there is a  _ wall of fog  _ around the town, but you’re not going to tell me any of it?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

Bellamy grins widely at this. “So I have been told.”

“You want to do this the hard way? Fine. We will do this the hard way,” Murphy says, his voice hardening as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his badge. “I’m special agent Murphy with the FBI, and I am ordering you to tell me everything you know about that fog.”

Bellamy looks at the badge, and then back at him, his expression falling slowly as he realizes that Murphy’s being serious. He doesn’t seem offended or scared by the command - rather, it’s as though the words have hurt his feelings. In only moments, however, he’s seemingly recovered and the small grin slips back onto his face. “You’re agent Murphy?”

He puts the badge back into his pocket, his conviction wavering only slightly. “ _ Special  _ agent Murphy.”

“I thought your name was Murphy.”

He can do nothing but look at Bellamy with annoyance. “It is.”

Bellamy positively beams. “So - your name is Murphy Murphy?”

“I -  _ no _ , you idiot, Murphy is my last name.”

“I see. So what’s your first name, then?”

Murphy’s about to answer, but his mind goes blank. It’s not as though he’s forgotten - when he thinks about the question, absolutely nothing comes into his head. It’s as though he’s searching for a piece of information that has never existed, and will never exist, and all he’s doing by pursuing the question is talking to the void. The more he thinks about it, and the harder he tries to find the name he doesn’t seem to have, the more this feeling envelops him. It’s as if, for one harrowing moment, he doesn’t exist at all. 

And then - it’s as though it never happened at all, and the words, “That’s not important,” fall off his tongue before he can even think about them. He speaks with such confidence that he believes himself. It’s not important. It doesn’t matter at all. 

Bellamy shrugs. If he noticed anything off about the moment that just occurred, he doesn’t say so. “Fine, then.”

“I’m still FBI,” Murphy says, “which means you have to answer any questions I ask you - or I can have you arrested.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“I - What?”

“I don’t have to,” Bellamy replies. “You can ask Kane if you want, back at the station, but he’ll tell you the same thing. I don’t have to answer to you, not if I don’t want to - not if it puts the safety of this town at risk.”

Murphy’s not sure what to say to this. “Your boss might have told you that, but unless you’ve forgotten,  _ my  _ boss works for the FBI, and he might have something different to say.”

“I really don’t think so.”

“Well, I really do.”

Bellamy shrugs, and then with an annoying amount of confidence, he walks past Murphy and carries on down the path. “It’s not my fault you came at a bad time,” he says, once Murphy has caught up to him yet again. 

“What do you mean?”

“Things are changing here,” he says. “Sanctum’s in a... _ troubled  _ time. It’s bad luck that you got sent here during all this, that’s all.”

Murphy sighs. “What does  _ that  _ mean?”

“Look,” Bellamy says, and then he stops once again so that he’s facing Murphy, the wind whistling between them both. “It’s simple, really. If you stay here and work with me, I will tell you everything. If you decide to go, that’s your choice, but then it’s best if you leave Sanctum in the past.”

Murphy takes a deep breath, trying to figure out what it is that Bellamy’s not telling him, but he’s coming up empty. “Why is it that you want me to stay so badly?”

As if it’s a reflex, Bellamy’s hand creeps back up to hold his shoulder, the very same one that Murphy had shoved just minutes previous. It takes him several seconds to answer, during which he only stares at him with those wide, kind eyes. “I think you’re meant to be here,” he finally says, very quietly. 

“Right,” Murphy replies, slowly. “I’m here on business, you know that.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any problems leaving Sanctum, and letting us keep our secrets.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he says, his gaze never wavering. “Unless, of course - there’s another reason you want to stay.”

Murphy wants to say a lot of things to him, at that moment, but he doesn’t know where exactly to begin. “Like I said - I’m here on business.”

Bellamy’s face falls, and for a fleeting moment Murphy feels something close to guilt, but then the cop clears his throat and it’s all in the past. “Right, then,” he says, gesturing to his right. “We’re here. Let’s get your  _ business  _ over with.”

Only now does Murphy realize they’re at their destination. Just a little ways away down the path stands a small one story house, built in a small clearing of trees so that it’s almost completely secluded from view. It’s old, and quite obviously worse for wear, as several shingles on the roof are missing and there are more cracks than not on the walls. Perhaps the most curious detail, though, is that all of the windows on the building have been completely boarded up, so that it’s impossible to see inside. 

Bellamy, too, seems intrigued by this. “It didn’t use to be like that,” he says. 

“The boards, you mean? They weren’t there before?”

There’s a pause before he answers. “Yeah,” is all he finally says, and based on this and the tone of his speech, it’s clear that for reasons beyond Murphy, Bellamy is  _ mad  _ at him. It all feels a little childish until he realizes that he, too, is feeling more than a little unsettled about their last exchange.  _ Maybe I should stay,  _ he thinks, but he immediately vanishes the thought. What would he be staying for? To make sure a local cop isn’t mad at him for doing his job?  _ Yes,  _ is the answer, and he hates how much sense that makes to him. 

“So, someone is definitely home, then,” Murphy says, doing his best to ignore the hostility of his partner. 

“Raven said Hope had boarded herself up in her house,” Bellamy points out, “so it looks like they were right. She’s probably inside, right now.”

Murphy hums. “Alright, I’ll approach. You stay here and watch my back.”

“You - You’re going to go up there?”

“Well, yeah,” Murphy replies, not sure as to what the problem is. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Bellamy exhales, long and slow. “There could be something else going on here,” he says. “I don’t want to be so aggressive towards her, not when we don’t know what’s going on.”

Murphy sighs. “Look - her mother is wanted for murder. It’s not about her at all. If it really is just Hope inside, then I’m only going to ask her some questions. If it so happens that my information is correct and Charmaine is in there as well, then I’m here to arrest her, and not Hope. Does that make you feel better?”

“Not really.”

“I have no idea why,” he replies, “but to be honest, it doesn’t matter. The sooner I can do my job, the sooner you can let me be on my way and you won’t have to put up with me anymore, okay?”

Bellamy’s clearly not happy about it, but he gestures at the house, as if to say  _ go forth,  _ and so Murphy does. Instinctively, he puts a hand at the top of his gun, though he doesn’t draw it. He hopes that there won’t be any kind of threat in the house, but based on the newly boarded up windows and how isolated the structure is to begin with, it’s looking like it’s going to be a hard day. 

“You said Hope just came back to town a couple days ago?” he says, looking back at Bellamy. 

“She did,” he replies. His voice is flat, now, a sign that he’s turned this into being about business and business only. That should be fine. Really, Murphy should be fine with that, and it bothers him that he’s not. “Nobody was living in this house until she came back, but I haven’t seen her. She hasn’t been to visit anybody.”

Murphy nods. There’s no noise or signs of life inside the house - not that he’d be able to see them if there were - and so he slowly makes his way to the front door, glancing back at Bellamy as he makes it there. The cop is standing a little ways away, so he’s mostly out of sight, but he’s got his own hand on his weapon. There’s a hint of uneasiness in his posture, but he stays in position.

Murphy raises his fist and loudly knocks on the door. “Hope?” he calls out, listening for any sounds inside the house. “Hope Diyoza? My name is Murphy. I just have a few questions to ask you.”

He hears only silence in response. “Hope, if you don’t open the door, I will have to break it down,” he calls after a few more seconds. Still, he hears nothing at the other side of the door. 

With a sigh, he steps back away from the door and walks back towards Bellamy. “What are you doing?” the cop asks, a fire in his eyes that he hasn’t seen before. “Weren’t you going to - how did you put it,  _ break the door down?”  _

Murphy raises an eyebrow. “Why, did you want to do it?”

“No,” Bellamy snaps, but then he takes a breath. “I just mean - why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about the FBI,” Murphy says, “but we don’t just go knocking people’s doors down. I need a warrant for that. But since that will take time, I’m just going to call my boss and get approval, and worry about the paperwork later.”

“You really talk about your boss a lot, huh?”

Murphy’s taken out his phone, and he’s about to hit the call button, but the question makes him pause. “Well - he’s my boss.”

“Oh, sure,” Bellamy says. 

“I - What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Just that it’s clear I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”

Murphy blinks. “He’s my boss, Bellamy. What more is there?”

Bellamy’s saved from having to answer this. A quiet  _ creak  _ sounds out over the wind. The front door of the house is open, and a woman is slowly walking outside, her hands in the air. 

It’s easy to recognize her - Murphy’s seen her wanted poster a hundred times. “Charmaine Diyoza?” he calls out, pulling out his gun in seconds. 

“Yes,” she says, though she doesn’t try to take another step towards them. 

“Looks like she is in town, after all,” he says in a low voice that only Bellamy can hear, before he moves forwards towards the woman. “Charmaine Diyoza, you are-”

“Just arrest me,” she says, cutting him off. He notices that she keeps glancing back towards the house, clearly nervous about something that they can’t see. 

Murphy knows he should keep going with the speech, but the general unease of the situation has him wanting to leave as quickly as possible. Still - he knows that Hope is supposed to be in that house, and by Charmaine’s general reaction, he can also tell there’s something inside that she doesn’t want him to know about. “Where’s Hope?”

“Not here. You want me, don’t you?”

He could leave, but - what if her daughter had been the next victim on the murder spree, and her body is inside the doors? “Bellamy, check the house.”

Charmaine’s eyes widen, and she looks at Bellamy as though she’s just now realized that he’s there. “No, don’t - Bellamy, please, it’s not her fault.”

Bellamy looks torn, glancing between the two of them for reasons beyond Murphy. “She’s wanted for murder,” he snaps. “Go check the house!”

He debates this internally for a few more seconds, before he finally nods and begins to approach the house. “No,” Charmaine cries out, again, but he keeps going until he’s right next to the wall of the building, moving towards the door. 

Before he can make it, though, the door flies open again and another girl comes racing out, skidding to a stop directly in front of Charmaine. “You can’t do this,” she says in a rush, raising up her arms to plead with Murphy. “It was me. I did it. It’s my fault. It’s all  _ my  _ fault!”

“Hope, get back inside,” Charmaine begs, but her daughter doesn’t move. Instead, she keeps staring him in the eye, as if trying to test his resolve. 

“It’s me,” Hope continues, as though her mother had never spoken. “My mom was trying to protect me, but I’m the one who did it. I’m the reason that all those people are dead, okay? So - arrest me, but leave my mom alone.”

Murphy, truly, is at a loss. He hadn’t been expecting a confrontation to occur at all today, let alone one as convoluted and twisted as this. “Bellamy,” he calls out, not taking his eyes off of either of the women, “we’re going to need back-up.”

He nods, a hand on his radio, but then he freezes in place. His skin grows pale, almost ghostly so, and he stumbles back, hand grasping at the wall of the house as if he’s looking for support. Terror clouds his eyes as his knees shake and he falls, sliding down the side of the house. 

“Bellamy!” he calls out, but his voice doesn’t seem to reach him. The cop stays huddled on the ground, practically shaking with fear. Only then does Murphy realize that Hope’s looking at Bellamy, as if her gaze is responsible for this sudden onset of panic, but that - that doesn’t make any sense. 

“Don’t you see?” Hope says, slowly looking back at him. “I did that. It’s my fault. I’m the one responsible.”

Murphy swallows, trying to figure out what he’s meant to do in this situation. “Whatever is going on, we can figure it out,” he calls out, though he doesn’t lower his weapon. “If you come with me, right now, then I will help you figure out what’s going on, okay?”

“You can’t,” she whispers, and despite it all, the pure brokenness in her voice gets to him. “You can’t help me.”

“I can,” Murphy promises, though he knows very well he’s making this all up as he goes, “Just - please, whatever you’re doing to him, stop, and then we can figure this out.” Bellamy’s looking marginally better, but his gaze is still a million miles away and he looks as though he’s just seen a ghost. 

Hope shakes her head slowly. “No, I - I didn’t do anything to him. It’s just me. This is just because of me.”

“Hope, please,” Charmaine says, though as she steps out from behind her daughter and tries to take her hand, she quite noticeably averts her eyes. Never once does she look directly at her, and as a result, it’s easy for Hope to step out of the way of her attempted touch. 

“You can’t save me from this one, mom,” she whispers. “You can’t even  _ look  _ at me.”

“Hope-”

“You’re scared of me,” Hope says, and then quite suddenly, a determination grows in her eyes. Swiftly, she’s walking over to Bellamy, whose breath hitches as their gazes meet yet again, even though it’s only for a second. Whatever she’s doing, it’s incapacitated him, and made it easy for her to grab his holstered gun. 

Immediately, Murphy’s taking another step forward, reaffirming that he’s got a gun of his own. “Hands where I can see them!”

Hope doesn’t listen to him, as if she doesn’t even care that he’s there. “You’re scared of me,” she repeats, speaking to her mother who still isn’t meeting her gaze. “Right? Just say it. Just say it!”

“I’m not scared of you,” Charmaine says. 

“Then look at me.”

Her eyes stay trained towards the ground. “Hope, please-”

“ _ Look at me! _ ”

Charmaine pauses, and for a second, it seems as though she’s going to, but she only takes a step backwards. “I can’t. You know I can’t. But it’s not  _ you _ !”

“Yeah,” Hope whispers, letting out a shaky breath as she looks over, back at Murphy. “It’s my fault, okay? I confess. I killed them. It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t do it on purpose, but it’s my fault they’re all dead.”

There’s more, here - there’s so much more going on that he can’t even begin to fathom a guess. “Just come with me,” he repeats, but the situation is slipping out of his grasp, and he doesn’t know what else to do to try and regain control of it all. 

“If I do, more people will die,” she says, and then she raises the gun, but not at him. She holds the handle tightly in her hand, the barrel pressed up against her own skull as she closes her eyes. 

“ _ No! _ ” he calls out, taking another step towards her and lowering his own weapon. “I told you we can figure it out, okay, and I mean that, I promise you. I believe you, Hope, okay? I believe you when you say it’s not your fault.”

The gun stays pointed at her head, but her eyes open. “You believe me?”

“I believe you,” he repeats, and if this is true he’s not sure, but he doesn’t have the time to think it over. “Lower the gun, okay? We can sort this whole thing out. It’s going to be fine.”

For a second, he thinks that he’s gotten through to her. Her hand begins to shake, the grip on the weapon lessening, and very slowly she seems to be lowering it. Maybe, just maybe, it  _ is _ going to work out fine. And then - 

“What’s going on? Should I call someone?”

Murphy turns at the sudden voice. A man has stepped out from the trees, a big backpack on his shoulders. He’s hiking the cliffs, clearly, and he’s not a threat - but he’s come at just the wrong moment. The voice is enough to get Hope to turn, as well, and the second her eyes make contact with the man’s, he goes just as still as Bellamy had, but he doesn’t collapse in fear. Rather, his expression grows hard, and though he looks absolutely terrified, he also appears enraged. 

“Not again,” the man cries out, and then suddenly he’s  _ running,  _ and Murphy can’t get his weapon up fast enough or do anything to stop it. He crashes into Hope, pushing her back, and as she stumbles he keeps on going after her, moving closer and closer to the cliffside. 

“Stop!” Murphy yells, but he’s alone, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Charmaine yells out but her cries go unanswered. The man, whoever he is, seems to not hear either of them. 

“Not again,” he repeats, and then with a howl, he throws himself at Hope with so much force that they crash to the ground and roll right off the cliffside, heading straight down to the choppy waters far, far below. Only later, once he’s processed it all, will Murphy realize that Hope had let him do it. 

Slowly, Murphy slides his weapon back into its holster. The wind moves throughout the clearing as if nothing had happened, the sound racing by his ears and diluting the volume of Charmaine’s cries. She races to the cliffside, falling to her knees and looking over the edge. 

Bellamy’s still on the ground next to the house, so Murphy moves over to him to check on him. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice quiet, but then he sees the blood. There’s a long, deep gash all the way down Bellamy’s arm. Somehow when he fell, he must have caught his arm against an uneven part of the house. It had torn right through his thick jacket, puncturing down to his skin.

“I’m fine,” Bellamy says, and though he tries to stand, he falls right back down to the ground. “I just - I’m having some trouble-”

“It’s probably the blood loss, you idiot,” Murphy sighs, kneeling down and taking off his own jacket, holding part of it to the wound. 

Bellamy looks down, eyes widening as he sees his arm and the blood that’s on the wall of the house and the ground beneath their feet. “Oh,” he says. “I didn’t realize.”

“You didn’t realize?”

“I didn’t feel it.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be tough for me.”

Bellamy shakes his head, slowly. “No, I really didn’t feel it.”

Murphy pauses, considering this, but he knows he can’t ask more about it now. “We’ll talk about all this later,” he says after a pause. “For now, I think - I think we both need to phone our bosses.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “Yeah, I think so.” 

All the while, Charmaine doesn’t stop wailing for a second. 

* * *

It doesn’t take long for most of Sanctum PD to show up at the scene. Clarke and Lexa come as well, but since Hope and the other man are at the bottom of the ocean, there isn’t much for them to examine. Instead, Clarke sits Bellamy on the bed of her truck and begins to stitch his arm. After debriefing with Kane, Murphy comes over to them. “Hey, you doing okay?” he asks Bellamy. He hadn’t asked what had happened to him when Hope had looked at him earlier, and though he desperately wants to know, he suspects that if he asked, he wouldn’t get a straight answer. 

Despite all they’d said to each other today and everything that had passed between them, Bellamy gives him a smile. “I’m fine,” he says. “I told you - I really didn’t feel anything.”

He remembers how, back in the medical examiner’s office, Bellamy had cut his hand on the scalpel and he’d said the exact same thing. Both times, the man hadn’t even flinched at his wounds, despite the fact that both had made him bleed. A theory is beginning to form in Murphy’s head. “Can you not feel pain?”

“Nope,” Bellamy says, just as Clarke is finishing her work and placing a bandage to cover it. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

Murphy nods, slightly incredulous. “And yet, you became a cop anyway?”

Bellamy laughs. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a guy who can’t feel pain, and yet you picked one of the most dangerous professions out there?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he scoffs. 

“I  _ told  _ you to be more careful,” Clarke cuts in, sighing as she gathers her things to put them away. “I don’t want to have to stitch you up anymore, Bellamy, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bellamy says, though it’s clear that he’s teasing her. He hops off the bed of the truck and then puts his big jacket back on, though he frowns when he looks at the sleeve for the left arm. The fabric is completely torn through and shredded, so much so that his entire forearm is exposed. “That’s unfortunate.”

Murphy chuckles. “I don’t know what you were expecting with that.”

“Time for a new one,” he sighs, though he doesn’t take the jacket off. Murphy’s curious as to why, but he suspects that he’s gotten as much out of Bellamy today as he’s going to, and pressing harder will only set them back again. 

“Do you need to stick around?” Murphy asks, gesturing to the scene. The police are starting to filter out, and even Charmaine is gone, most likely having been taken to the station so she should answer questions about what had gone on. “I have to meet with Kane at the station to go over what happened, but that’s it.”

Bellamy sighs. “That’s it, huh?”

“Well - I have to call my boss, too, and let him know about all this.”

“You haven’t called him yet?”

Murphy pauses, gazing over at the cliffside. The wall of fog is still visible, looming just as ominously as it did before. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell him,” he replies, honestly. “Bellamy, I - can I say something that might make no sense?”

Bellamy chuckles at that. “I think you’ve made it pretty clear that this whole town doesn’t make sense to you.”

“It doesn’t,” he agrees, “but that’s just it. Do you remember how before, you said that you thought I might be meant to be here?”

“Yeah.”

“I think - you might be right about that.”

Bellamy blinks in surprise, but then he smiles. “Just admit it, Murphy. You like it here.”

He scoffs. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far - but there’s something going on here. I travel a lot for work, you know that, but I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never felt like I  _ wanted  _ to understand.” It makes no sense, he knows, that a wall of fog that shouldn’t exist in the first place is what drew him to this conclusion - but part of being in Sanctum, he’s starting to learn, is making peace with things that don’t make sense. 

“You like it here,” Bellamy repeats, and he laughs. “Well - I know that tomorrow morning, I will be at the station. I’m sure that Kane wouldn’t mind you sticking around, just for a while, even, so if you want to know more - you can come find me there.” At this, he pulls his shredded jacket around his shoulders and starts walking down the dirt path, back towards town. 

“You should be taking it easy!” Murphy calls as he goes. 

This doesn’t stop the other man for a second. “I can’t feel it!” he calls back, and then he’s out of sight. 

For a second, Murphy does nothing but stand there and look at the space that Bellamy used to take up, but then he nods with newfound determination. The decision is made for him, really - he doesn’t even have to think about it. The end result of what he’s seen today didn’t faze him, as tragic as it was, but the reason  _ why  _ it happened is what’s peaking his curiosity. He can stay, he thinks, and figure that out. He can figure it all out, and when he’s finally got the answers he’s seeking, maybe then he’ll want to leave. 

Maybe, just maybe, that’s not the only reason he wants to stay, but - that’s a question for another time. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and quickly enters his boss’ number. The line rings for only a moment.  _ “Murphy,”  _ his boss says,  _ “Did you find her?” _

“I did,” he says, and then he proceeds to explain what happened, though he leaves out the parts he can’t explain. 

_ “The mother was covering up what the daughter did, then.” _

“It looks like it.”

_ “Well - case closed, it seems. Once the police chief has your statement you’re clear to leave, agent.” _

He can’t imagine leaving, not now, not when there are so many pieces to this puzzle that he hasn’t yet solved. “Actually, sir - I think I need to take a leave.”

_ “A leave?”  _

“Yeah, I - I think I need to stay here, just for a little while. There’s more to know about this town, and there’s more here for me to see, I just know it.” For a second, Murphy wonders why it is that he’s suddenly so sure of this course of action when only hours previously he’d been so set on leaving, but the thoughts leave just as quickly as they’d come. 

On the other end of the line, his boss is quiet for a moment.  _ “Alright, Murphy. Take as long as you need.”  _

“Thank you, Zev.”

_ “That’s agent Zev to you.”  _

Murphy chuckles. “Right, of course. Thank you,  _ agent  _ Zev.”

With that, he ends the call, tucking the phone back into his pocket and looking out at the ocean. The wind whips through his hair as he stands there. He stays at the cliffs, even as the rest of the police there leave and the world around him descends into silence. He stays, gazing out at the water that now holds two more victims than it did before, and the wall of fog seems to grow darker and nearly solidify. 

He’d made a promise to Hope that he would figure it all out, and now, it seems, he might actually be able to stay true to that. He looks back at the old house, wondering if there was more he could have done here. There’s more to the situation that he hadn’t been aware of. Maybe if he’d known the truth of what was going on, he could have helped more. As he stands gazing out at the ocean, he vows that in the future, he won’t find himself in a situation similar to this one again. He will do whatever it takes to figure out what Sanctum is hiding from him so that no more lives have to be lost. 

With one final look, he turns away from the cliff’s edge, and begins walking back down the path towards town. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i hope you enjoyed this chapter! i wanted to quickly apologize for the wait and say that there might be a longer amount of time in between chapters than normally for me, since i'm in the middle of assignment season in school and i have about a million other things going on right now. so updates will most likely be slow, but they are coming i promise! anyways - i hope you liked it, and i hope you like the direction this story is going. thank you to everyone who has left me lovely words in their comments <3


	4. our time devour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And now, like amorous birds of prey,  
> Rather at once our time devour  
> Than languish in his slow-chapped power.  
> Let us roll all our strength and all  
> Our sweetness up into one ball,  
> And tear our pleasures with rough strife  
> Through the iron gates of life."

The sun is setting by the time he makes it back to the hotel, and in keeping with his luck, it starts pouring rain halfway through his walk. Murphy’s tired, more than he should be - though he knows it’s because the events of the cliff side have been replaying over and over in his mind ever since he left. Charmaine’s wails of pain and sorrow, he knows, will never truly leave his memory. The rain pounds down on the pavement, mixing with the remnants of her howls. It’s as if it’s all still echoing in the air all around him as he pushes open the door to the hotel, slowly shuffling inside. 

If he closes his eyes, he sees the hiker plow right into Hope. It doesn’t make any sense, but the best Murphy can figure is that something about Hope made people see something else than a young girl. It would explain why Bellamy had fallen back from what seemed to be pure terror when he’d looked at her. Whatever the hiker had seen, then, had been horrible enough for him to be willing to sacrifice himself to attach Hope. Yet - it doesn’t make any sense to him. Why hadn’t he seen something else when he’d looked at her? How was it, exactly, that she was able to trick people like that?

“Uh - you need something?”

Murphy blinks, realizing that he’s been standing in the middle of the hotel lobby the whole time, dripping rainwater all over the floor, completely lost in thought. Only now does he realize how truly soaked he is, but there’s nothing he can do now. He’s been a federal agent for a very long time, and so he does what he does best - he compartmentalizes. “Yeah, actually,” he says, taking a few very wet steps towards the front desk and the worker who can’t be more than fifteen, “I’m going to be staying a lot longer than I thought - do you have room available?”

The worker stares at him for a few seconds. “You’re the fed, right?”

“Uh - yeah,” Murphy replies, hesitantly. 

“Yeah, you’re booked in.”

He comes closer to the counter, no longer caring about the water he’s dragging around the floor with his feet. “What do you mean? I haven’t booked anything yet.”

The worker shrugs, his expression having remained unchanged from pure boredom their entire exchange. “Some guy phoned earlier, and paid for your room for, like, months.”

“Months?” Murphy repeats. “Who? Who phoned?”

“I don’t know, man, some guy.”

He exhales slowly, trying to stay patient even though he’s not sure he can handle yet another piece of information that doesn’t make any sense. “He didn’t leave a name?”

“No, he did, it was just a weird one,” the worker says, biting his lip as he thinks. “Zee? Zai? Something like that.”

“Zev?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Weird, right?”

Murphy smiles, tapping lightly on the counter. Zev must have done this after he phoned him, back at the cliffs, to tell him he needed to take a leave and stay in Sanctum. He wasn’t planning on making his stay months long, but still, the gesture is nice. “Okay. Thank you,” he says, turning away from the counter and taking the stairs up to his room on the next floor up. Despite the thunderous roar of the rain outside, he’s truly forgotten he’s drenched at all, and he doesn’t notice the worker staring at the trail of water he’s leaving in his wake with pure disdain. 

He makes it up the stairs and opens up the door, and he’s about to step inside his room when he notices the pale brown envelope on the floor. Someone’s slid it inside underneath the door, and he’s nearly stepped on it with his dripping wet boot. Hesitantly, he picks it up, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. 

He slides off his jacket and hangs it up on the door and sits down on the edge of the bed, inspecting the envelope. It’s completely plain. The only thing on the front of it is his own name, handwritten in dark ink, addressing the contents to him. Something about it makes him pause, but he shakes off his own doubts and rips open the flap, revealing the contents inside. 

The envelope had seemed thick, but the only thing inside it is a thin piece of paper, that as he pulls it out shows itself to be a newspaper clipping.  _ Another Culling Victim Found,  _ reads the headline, and a further search of the page shows the article dated twenty-two years ago. It’s from the Sanctum newspaper, the same one that Jasper and Monty now run, and as he turns his attention to the large photograph that takes up most of the page, he sees that it was taken at the bottom of the cliffs, right next to the ocean - the very same spot Hope Diyoza had died only hours ago. 

This connection, though, fades from his mind as he looks at the rest of the photo. There’s a large group of people in the photo, presumably a crowd that gathered to watch the police investigation taking place. He doesn’t know what the “culling” is, but it’s easy enough to guess it’s a reference to a string of murders. Most of the people in the photo don’t tell him anything, as they all seem to be regular townsfolk, until - 

he sees himself. 

Murphy blinks, looking at the photo again, but the image doesn’t change. He’s staring at himself standing in the crowd, looking out at the ocean - except, that can’t be the case. This photo was taken twenty-two years ago, so he knows very well he’s looking at somebody else, but they look exactly like him down to every detail. It’s as though he’s staring into a mirror. 

Gently, Murphy places the newspaper piece down on the bed beside him, his thoughts turning at a thousand miles per hour. It’s not a photo of himself, obviously, but it is of somebody who looks identical to him. The only logical answer, then, is that it’s a photo of his father - but he can’t confirm or deny this. He’s never met his father, or his mother, and if he’s honest about it all, he has no idea about any of his history. 

It’s more than possible, then, that his father was in Sanctum twenty-two years ago - and he’s only just finding this out now. 

He swallows, fingers curling around the edge of the bed. Murphy’s desperately trying to quell the rising emotions in his chest, but it isn’t working the more he thinks about this. Sure, he was going to stay in Sanctum before, but now - now, it’s personal. Now, he’s been presented to a real connection to his past that he’d always thought would simply remain a mystery forever. Now - he might actually get  _ answers.  _ Tomorrow, he’ll meet Bellamy at the station, and then he’ll see Jasper and Monty, and he’ll start piecing together everything he’s ever wanted to know. 

The potential of this is so enticing that he doesn’t even stop to consider who it is that gave him this photo. No, as the thunderous rain continues to plummet down from the sky and slam against the rooftop, for the first time in a while Murphy rests easy. 

* * *

The next morning, Murphy steps outside of the doors to the hotel to find that the rain has stopped and the sun is shining high in the sky. There’s still a chill in the air that bites at his skin, but it feels almost comforting now. As he walks out onto the sidewalk, he lifts his head up for a moment, basking in the sun’s rays. It’s nice here, he decides - far nicer than it has any right to be. 

“Heard you’re staying,” someone calls out, and he looks back at his surroundings to see Raven walking briskly down the street, carrying a large box with her as she heads towards the harbour. Even though she’s the one who spoke to him first, she shows no signs of slowing down, not even as she passes him where he stands. 

“News travels fast here,” he replies. 

This makes her grin, but she doesn’t slow down, and soon her back is to him. “Your funeral, then,” she calls back, and then she’s out of earshot, continuing on her way. The words are meant to make him laugh (at least, he hopes), so he doesn’t think anything of it as he puts his hands into his pockets and walks in the opposite direction. 

He makes it to the police station fairly quickly, and when he gets there, he practically bounds up the staircase and into the building. It’s quiet inside. Murphy guesses it’s more often this way than busy, but still, there’s some charm to be found from the space. Kane’s office and several others, including Clarke and Lexa’s, are to his right, so Murphy looks to his left - and sure enough, there he is. 

Bellamy’s leaning against a wooden wall, aimlessly scrolling through his phone with one hand, and tossing a red apple up and down with his other. It’s the first time he’s seen him without his ridiculous jacket on, and Murphy takes a moment to simply stare at the other man. It’s the right decision to stay, he thinks, and if a small smile slides onto his face as he stares, he thinks nothing of it. 

Another second goes by before Bellamy’s eyes move off his phone screen and light up as he sees him. “So, you’re here after all,” he says, sliding the phone into his pocket and tossing the apple up once again. “I was beginning to think you weren’t staying.”

“And yet you felt confident enough to tell Raven that I am,” he replies, walking towards him until he’s standing close enough that he can easily catch Bellamy’s apple mid-flight the next time he tosses it up. 

Bellamy gasps, looking at him with mock-betrayal. “How could you?”

“I’m looking out for you,” Murphy says. “You could break a tooth on these things, you know, and since you wouldn’t feel it - where would that leave you?” 

“Uh-huh,” Bellamy replies with a laugh. “Thank you so much for keeping my best interests at heart.”

“Always,” he says, and then he takes a big bite out of the apple to prove his point. It’s sweet, but not overpoweringly so. 

Bellamy shakes his head, but he’s grinning and he doesn’t try to steal his now half-eaten apple back. “Anyway, I didn’t tell Raven, actually - but I told you that she and Emori know everything.”

“I guess I’ll have to get used to that,” he says. 

“I guess you will,” Bellamy replies. “I’m glad that you’re staying, you know. I really am.”

Murphy nods, but he doesn’t miss the way Bellamy’s eyes shine when he says it. “You would have missed me, is that it?”

“I would have,” Bellamy says, and he looks for a moment like he’s about to say something else, but then he’s leaning forwards, drawing Murphy into a kiss before he even realizes that it’s happening. It isn’t long, but the feeling sends sparks flying through Murphy’s chest and as Bellamy draws away, he grins. 

“At work?” Murphy says, quickly looking around, but nobody else is there. “That’s bold.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says, “I just - I took a chance. I’m sorry if that was too much.”

“No,” Murphy replies, “it wasn’t too much at all.”

“Good,” he replies, “because you’re right - I would have missed you,  _ and _ I already told Kane that you were staying, so if you hadn’t shown up, that would have looked really bad on my end.”

Murphy laughs, but as he thinks about his reasons for staying, the mysterious newspaper clipping slides back into his mind and he knows he has to ask about it. It’s unlikely that Bellamy will be able to shed light on any of it, but he  _ is  _ owed answers about everything else, and he’s confident that the other man knows more than he’s letting on. “Bellamy, I have to ask you something.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Have you ever heard of something called the ‘culling’ here in Sanctum? It happened just over twenty years ago.”

Immediately, Bellamy’s eyes darken and he shifts positions so that his arms cross over his chest. “The culling was a dozen, or maybe more, unsolved murders that were likely done by the same person,” he replies, his voice taut. “The killer was never found, and the case was never solved, but - we all have our theories. Why do you ask?”

It’s here, he knows, that he could lie. He’s only known about the newspaper article and the photograph for less than a day, but already, Murphy feels somewhat protective about it. There’s no reason he has to tell Bellamy, and he knows full well that the other man hasn’t been completely honest with him about everything. Yet - he doesn’t want to lie. This photograph is arguably the most personal artifact about his life that Murphy’s ever found, and as he stands in the wooden police station in this very strange town, he wants nothing more than to share it with him. 

Slowly, he pulls the newspaper clipping out of his pocket, and hands it over. Bellamy takes it, his eyes widening and glancing back and forth between the man in the photo and Murphy. “That’s spooky,” he says, after several seconds. 

“Spooky? Really? That’s the word you’re going with?”

“It  _ is _ ,” Bellamy replies, looking further at the people in the frame. “I don’t recognize anyone else, but at the time of this photo, I was five years old, so.”

Murphy hums, taking the clipping back and carefully putting it back in his pocket. “I was going to ask Jasper and Monty about it,” he says, “just to see if they know anything else, but - I think it has to be my father.”

Bellamy blinks, and then his eyes widen once again, as if he’s just figured out something that’s been bothering him all his life. “You think it could be your father, as in, you don’t know for sure?”

“Well - no. I never knew my parents.”

“So you could be from Sanctum all along? You could have been born here?”

Murphy’s brow furrows, trying to follow his train of thought. “Well, yeah, I guess so, but I have no idea. Why does that matter?”

Bellamy exhales as he stands up straight, arms falling to his sides. “Murphy, I - you’re really staying, right? You’re going to stay, at least for a while?”

There’s something more in his eyes when he asks, an emotion that he can’t quite place, but Murphy’s confident that the very same feeling is reflected back in his own gaze. “Yes,” he says, his voice soft. “Yes, I’m really staying.”

“Okay,” Bellamy whispers, and there’s something else just at the tip of his tongue, but then he clears his throat and steps back, and any implications of the moment are lost. “Okay, I - then it’s time I tell you everything, huh?”

“Yeah,” Murphy agrees, “that would be a start.”

* * *

Bellamy ends up taking him to Sanctum’s only coffee shop. They sit at an outside table, the only people there in the morning hours. Briefly, Bellamy goes in to order them both a coffee - his is iced, despite the chill in the air, and even when the tips of his ears turn red from the cold he doesn’t seem to care or notice. Murphy thinks, briefly, that given their kiss at the police station and the sudden change of setting, this could be considered a date - but he isn’t bold enough to suggest it, not yet. 

“Okay,” Murphy says, wrapping his hands around his own coffee to keep them warm, “tell me everything, then.”

“I don’t know where to start,” Bellamy replies, tapping his fingers against the table as he bites his lip. “I’ve never had to explain this to someone, and I really didn’t think we would get this far.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I - I hoped you would stay, but I didn’t think you would,” he admits. 

Murphy hums at this. He can’t disagree, necessarily, because he too didn’t think he’d stay until yesterday - but he also feels oddly disappointed that Bellamy had assumed this about him. “I always wanted to stay for you,” he says, quietly, the words falling off his tongue before he can even think about them or stop himself from saying them aloud. 

“Did you?”

“Maybe,” he replies, recovering some of his cool. 

Bellamy smiles, but then he sighs and leans back in his chair. “Okay. No more procrastinating. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

Murphy nods. “Tell me, Bellamy, what the hell is going on in this town?”

“Have you ever heard of the Troubles?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, every twenty years or so, the Troubles return to Sanctum,” Bellamy says. “They’re never here for more than a year, but while they are here, the chaos that they cause is - well, it’s deadly, as you saw yesterday.”

Murphy shakes his head, already lost. “What  _ are  _ they, though?”

Bellamy looks around, as though thinking the best way to explain it. “Do you remember how I told you that I can’t feel pain?”

“Vividly.”

“Well - that’s true, but it’s only part of it. I can’t feel  _ anything. _ ”

“Anything at all?” Murphy asks, leaning forwards, his curiosity piqued. He knows that Bellamy’s not lying about his inability to feel pain, so this isn’t too much of a stretch for him to follow. 

Bellamy nods, grimacing slightly as he thinks about it. “I get my coffee iced when I’m like this because I can’t feel the temperature,” he explains, “and iced coffee doesn’t burn. I wear big jackets and gloves when I think it’s cold out because I can’t tell. I can’t feel the ground beneath my feet. I can’t feel it when another person touches my skin.”

Murphy pauses, going over his words. It  _ would  _ explain the ridiculous (yet, endearing) jacket and the rest of his mannerisms, such as taking forever to hike up to the cliffside yesterday, but there’s one thing that he can’t follow. “You said ‘when you’re like this.’ What does that mean?”

“My inability to feel,” Bellamy says, “is my Trouble.”

“Is your -  _ what _ ?”

“It’s my Trouble,” he repeats, as if this explains everything. “Every twenty or so years, when the Troubles come back, I lose the ability to feel.”

Murphy leans back, his gaze hardening as he realizes what’s happening. “Really?”

“Yes,” Bellamy continues, not detecting the change. “It was my mother’s Trouble, too - they get passed down through families. Everyone’s Trouble is different, but they all get activated every twenty years for a limited amount of time, and nobody knows why. Hope was Troubled. Charmaine explained it to Kane - every time someone looked her in the eye, they saw what they feared the most.”

Murphy sighs, shaking his head softly. “That doesn’t make sense, Bellamy.”

“No, it doesn’t, because the Troubles don’t make sense,” Bellamy presses. He’s clearly passionate about what he’s saying, and it would be cute if it weren’t so absurd. “The wall of fog around town? That’s Kane’s Trouble. It literally stops Troubled people from leaving town. Anything that Clarke draws affects the real world. Lexa’s emotions influence nature. Jackson can see ghosts. Anytime that Emori touches someone’s skin, they feel horrible pain - well, except for me, because I can’t feel anything, but we’ve been over that.”

“So you’re telling me that everyone in this town has magical powers?”

Bellamy has the nerve to chuckle. “I’ve never heard anyone call the Troubles magical powers before, but sure, something like that. Not everyone, though - Raven, for instance, she doesn’t have a Trouble. There are non-Troubled people living in Sanctum, but they’re few and far between these days.”

The coffee in Murphy’s hands feels cold. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Bellamy?”

“What?” Bellamy says, softly, his eyes going wide. “No, I - I’m not lying to you, Murphy.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course you aren’t,” he snaps, standing up from the table in a rush. 

“No, I - I haven’t told you everything,” Bellamy says, rushing to stand up as well and come to Murphy’s level. “I can’t feel anything, it’s true, but Murphy - when you touched my hand, the other day, I  _ felt  _ that.”

Murphy just shakes his head. “I don’t care.”

“You told me today that you could very well be from Sanctum, which means that you could be Troubled, too, which explains why I can feel you! It explains why you felt like you were drawn here. Just think about it!”

Anger is growing in his chest, and if he does what Bellamy’s saying and stops to think about it, he knows that tears will form in his eyes. He feels like a fool. “You don’t want to tell me the truth about this town, I get it,” he says, “but you don’t get to sit here and tell me some fairy tale. I think my parents might have been from here, Bellamy. Do you understand what that means to me?”

“I can’t feel anything,” Bellamy repeats, his eyes full of silent pleas, “but I feel  _ you.”  _

“Goodbye, Bellamy,” he says, turning away before he can be lied to yet again. Bellamy calls out to him as he briskly walks away from the coffee shop, but he doesn’t turn back, not even once. 

* * *

His anger burns on the entire walk to the newspaper building, and with each step he takes, it only grows. Here he was, thinking that he and Bellamy had a real connection, and there was something tangible there, and then Bellamy goes and weaves this elaborate lie. He thinks Murphy’s a fool, clearly, or he just wants him out of Sanctum as fast as possible and decided chasing him away with ghost stories was the best way to do it. Either way, as dramatic as it is, he feels scorned. 

Still, he does what he does best and quells his emotions the best he can as he walks into the newspaper’s office. Jasper and Monty are both there behind the desk, but another woman he doesn’t recognize is standing in the room. When he enters, all three of them look at him, and he can’t help but notice nobody seems very pleased to see him. “I’ll come back,” he decides, and he’s about to walk back out when the woman speaks. 

“You’re Bellamy’s new partner, aren’t you?” she says. When he looks at her, the displeasure she has for him is evident. 

“I don’t know if I would call it that,” he replies, feeling extreme distaste at the thought of having to work with Bellamy again. 

The woman scoffs. “Good luck with that,” she says, her voice flat and void of emotion. “He’s not the easiest person to be around.”

Murphy’s eyes narrow. Despite it all, and despite all the anger he feels towards him, he can’t quite bring himself to talk badly about the cop. “I’ll come back,” he repeats, wanting to put as much distance in between himself and the woman as he can. 

“No need. I have all I need,” she says, and then she turns to walk out the door. As she passes him and their shoulders brush, she leans down to whisper in his ear. “If I were you, I would leave Sanctum as soon as possible. It would be best for everyone.” Before he can ask what she means, she’s out the door and walking down the street. 

Jasper clears his throat, breaking the silence that descends on the office. “Don’t mind Echo,” he says, “she just, uh - she can be a downer.”

“Can you blame her?” Monty says. 

“Yes,” Jasper replies, and it’s not clear if he’s being serious or not. He turns his attention back to Murphy to say, “She and Bellamy have a long history, so don’t worry, her feelings to you aren’t personal - she’s like that with everyone, especially now.”

“Sure,” Murphy says, deciding that, quite frankly, he doesn’t care. The various mysteries of Sanctum are starting to feel less appealing to him, now that he knows everybody thinks he’s not intelligent enough to tell when he’s being lied to. “Look, I’ll be fast, I just have one thing to ask you. Do you know anything about the man in this photograph?”

He hands over the newspaper clipping to Jasper, who looks at it while Monty peers over his shoulder. “That sure looks like you,” Jasper comments. 

“Yeah, I’d like to know why,” he says. “You said you have archives here, so I figured there was a chance there was more about him.”

“Look at the date,” Monty says, pointing to it. “It’s from last time.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jasper replies, sighing. “We don’t have a lot from... _ those  _ periods. Stuff gets destroyed, you know? People don’t want things reported.”

Murphy feels the anger start to swell yet again. “ _ That  _ time?”

They both pause, glancing at each other before Jasper speaks up. “Did, uh, did Bellamy get a chance to talk to you this morning? To explain things?”

“Oh, he sure did,” Murphy says, his posture straightening and jaw clenching. “He told me all about the town’s magical history, or whatever, and how you’re all ‘Troubled,’ or something like that.”

Jasper blinks. “Yeah, he wasn’t lying.”

“Not you, too,” he sighs, snatching the newspaper clipping back. “What is this, some sort of hazing ritual?”

“No, it’s - I see how people are going to die,” Jasper continues, completely deadpan and serious. “And Monty, he feels pain anytime he hears someone lie.”

“This town is ridiculous,” Murphy decides, shaking his head and stepping back from the desk. “Just - nevermind, alright? I don’t care. I don’t care about any of this.”

Jasper stands from where he’d been sitting, curiosity in his eyes. “Just listen - it’s the weirdest thing, but do you remember the other day when you came in here? I was so sure my Trouble was active already, but when we shook hands, I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see how you were going to die. That’s never happened in my family with our Trouble, and it doesn’t make sense, but maybe-”

“Save it,” Murphy snaps, walking to the door. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve all made it very clear that you want me to leave town, alright, so I’ll just do that and you won’t have to put up with me anymore.” 

“No, wait!” Jasper calls out, but the door’s already closing behind him. 

* * *

It’s infuriating, he decides, to finally think he might have found a home, to finally find a real connection to his past, and have everyone around him do nothing but laugh at him for it. 

He’s the laughingstock - he must be.  _ Your funeral,  _ Raven had told him when she’d passed him earlier today. At the time he had thought it was a joke but maybe the woman who knows everything had known what was coming for him, too - yet she didn’t even have the decency to warn him. 

As he’s feeling sorry for himself and walking down the main street, his phone buzzes and, reluctantly, he answers.  _ “Murphy - it’s Kane. Where are you?”  _ comes from the other end of the line. 

“I’m-”

_ “You’re Bellamy’s new partner, are you not? He’s over at the crime scene, and yet you aren’t.” _

He sighs through gritted teeth. “About that, actually-”

_ “Save it for later. You have a job to do. Get to the harbour, now.”  _ With that, Kane hangs up on him, leaving Murphy standing alone in the street with a silent phone. 

He doesn’t have to go. Bellamy’s already there, and it’s a small town - whatever has happened at the harbour, it can’t be that bad. And yet, he wants to. Some small piece of him still feels naive curiosity about this place, and that part of him wants to explore the town’s secrets with Bellamy at his side, and despite everything, it sounds so, so tempting to do just that. 

“I’m going to regret this,” Murphy whispers aloud to nobody at all, but he’s already walking towards the harbour. 

When he gets there, the scene is already a mess of yellow tape and personnel. A small white boat, near the left end of the dock, has been isolated and taped off. Emori and Raven’s boat, the only one he’s familiar with, is a fair distance away but the two women are keeping a careful eye over the scene from where they stand, no doubt listening to every word. Bellamy’s standing over by the boat that seems to be the center of the crime scene, though his eyes noticeably light up when he sees Murphy walk over. 

“I thought-” he starts to say, but Murphy holds up a hand. 

“I’m here only because Kane made me come,” he says, “and honestly, Bellamy, I don’t really care what you have to say. You made your feelings perfectly clear.”

His eyes shine with the purest form of sadness. “No. I didn’t.”

For a moment, Murphy wants nothing more than to just believe him and take him at his word, but he can’t - not like this. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late,” he says, and then he clears his throat and raises his voice to a professional level. “So - what happened here?”

Bellamy looks like he’s about to protest, but then he does the first nice thing he’s done all day, and he relents. “A body was found on this boat,” he says. “A man named Finn Collins. It looks like he’s been dead for a while, but the cause is unknown. Clarke and Lexa have already taken him back to their office, but - do you remember Emerson’s body?”

“Yeah,” Murphy says, thinking back to the body that had been in the medical examiner’s office when he first got there. 

“You remember that odd tattoo he had? Finn had the exact same one, in the exact same place.”

Murphy hums, nodding. “Yeah, that is odd. The deaths are connected somehow, then, you think?”

“I do,” Bellamy agrees. “If you want, you can take a look at the boat and see if you find anything. I’m going to head back to the station and talk to Clarke and Lexa - unless you wanted to come with me.” 

There’s a hopeful hint to his words, and it’s clear as to what he wants to happen, but Murphy’s not willing to give in - not yet. The thought of their kiss earlier still sends sparks flying in his chest but the betrayal of being lied to like he was stings just as strongly. Maybe, if Bellamy is honest with him and he gets a decent apology for whatever game he’s been playing, then maybe he can consider saying yes to things like that - but not now. He’s got too much pride. “I’ll look at the boat,” he says. 

“Sure,” Bellamy says, clearly disappointed, but he doesn’t push the issue. Instead, he turns away and walks down the dock and back to the street, leaving Murphy alone. He realizes then that the rest of the police force that were here are clearing out as well, but he doesn’t mind. If there’s nobody else here, then there will be nobody to disturb him or try and convince him of the magical powers of Sanctum, or whatever it is. 

He climbs into the boat, feeling it dip underneath his movements as it shifts slightly with the water. All evidence of there having been a body here are gone. He can’t see any signs of foul play or strife anywhere on the boat. It’s a waste of time, he figures fairly quickly, to stay here - but he stays just a little longer. Murphy finds it oddly peaceful to be on the boat, alone, staring out at the open water. 

While he’s here, he figures he might as well check the entirety of the vessel, and so he heads below deck to see what’s there. It’s a small space, meant only for one or two people, and there isn’t much room for anything. Nothing out of the ordinary can be found. He hums under his breath, walking to the back corner and taking one last look to see if he can spot anything, and - 

Something hits him in the back of the head, hard, and everything goes black. 

* * *

Murphy wakes slowly, with a pounding headache that makes it hard to open his eyes. Still, he manages, grimacing as light pours into them. The light source in question comes from a singular lightbulb, illuminating a small room that’s too hidden in shadows to clearly see what’s in it. He’s underground, he thinks, but when he tries to stand and figure this out for sure he realizes that he’s been restrained to a chair. Both his wrists are tied tightly and securely to the arms of the chair he’s sitting in, and his legs are tied together and to the chair itself, rendering him almost completely immobile. Whoever it is that's taken him and put him here, their handiwork is good. 

Just then, as he’s trying to figure out what he can do to get out of the situation he’s found himself in, someone steps out of the shadows. “Mister Murphy,” they say, in a low booming voice, that’s oddly familiar. 

It takes him a second to focus his still blurry vision, but out of all the people who could have been responsible for this, he hadn’t suspected the figure in front of him. “Jaha?” he manages to say, his voice hoarse. “Aren’t you the priest?”

“Sometimes,” Jaha says, his hands clasped behind his back as he stands, towering over Murphy. 

“What, sometimes you’re a priest, sometimes you kidnap people for fun?”

Jaha chuckles. “This wasn’t my doing.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It wasn’t my doing,” he repeats, “it was  _ our  _ doing.”

Upon his words, several more figures emerge from the shadows. Most of them, Murphy doesn’t recognize, but he swears he’s seen some of them around Sanctum. They’re ordinary people, he can tell, but there are at least a dozen standing in this underground room, wherever they are - and none of them look very happy with him. 

The bindings on his wrists show no signs of giving, no matter how much he pulls. Not to mention, given everything he’s said today, most of the town’s population likely thinks he’s about to leave, meaning that nobody will come looking for him should they even realize he’s gone missing. Whatever these people want with him, he doesn’t see an easy way out of it. 

“Well,” he says, “this is fantastic.”

Jaha only grins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this entire chapter while strung out on way too much caffeine so fair warning there. hopefully it was good! things are, as they say, ramping up now that the exposition is done. let me know what you think!


	5. old time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Him in thy course untainted do allow  
> For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.  
> Yet do thy worst, old Time! Despite thy wrong  
> My love shall in my verse ever live young."

As the dozen or so townspeople crowd around him with Jaha standing in the center of them all, looming down at him, Murphy begins to realize he hasn’t had one good day since he made it to this town. His car breaking down had been more of a warning then he’d realized at the time. Looking back, he thinks he should have taken that as a sign and never walked into Sanctum at all. 

But then - well, if he hadn’t, then Bellamy would have been hit by that truck, and he never would have found the photograph. If he hadn’t, he never would have found those two pieces of himself and surely,  _ surely  _ that’s worth being kidnapped and tied up in some basement somewhere by the town’s priest - right?

“Tell me,” he says, doing his best to feign indifference to the whole situation, “what’s your game plan here? What are you hoping to accomplish with this?”

Jaha hums softly. His priest’s collar shines brightly through the dark room, cascading them all in a literal glow of irony. “We needed to talk,” he says, nothing in his voice except for authority. 

“And you couldn’t have just told me that?” Murphy asks. There’s far more to this, that much is obvious. “You had to invade a crime scene and drag me here?”

“Is that what you think we did?” Jaha says, tilting his head to the side. He appears genuinely intrigued and curious at Murphy’s words. 

“Isn’t it?”

He chuckles under his breath, so much so that the laughter is barely audible. During this and their entire exchange, every other person in the room stays ominously silent, as though waiting for instruction. “Is it really a crime scene,” Jaha asks after a pause, “if we put the evidence there?”

“You  _ what _ ?”

“Mister Collins was kind enough to sacrifice himself to stage the scene,” he explains, as if he doesn’t realize how completely twisted what he’s implying is. “We had to get you alone, after all. It worked, did it not?”

Murphy blinks in surprise, but tries his best to quickly recover the pieces of his facade. “Are you claiming responsibility for that body in the boat,” he says, “in front of a federal agent?”

“I don’t see any ‘federal agents’ here.”

“Now, that’s just rude,” he replies. “Maybe I’m not exactly in the position to go running to my boss right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that I  _ do  _ work for the government, you know. Not your smartest move to take me here.”

Jaha takes a moment to do nothing but stare at him. “You truly do not understand your purpose here, do you?”

“How about you fill me in,” he says, not missing a beat, “since you’re the one who was oh-so-kind to bring me here, hmm?”

“As you wish,” Jaha replies, and then he steps closer to him and holds out his left wrist. When his forearm is underneath the glow of the lightbulb above them, he pulls up his sleeve, revealing a large tattoo on his inner wrist - the very same one that Murphy had seen on the bodies of both Emerson and Finn. As far as he can tell, it’s identical in every way. 

Jaha stands there, holding out his arm, but he says nothing to elaborate. “So,” Murphy finally says, tired of the silence, “is this some kind of cult, then? Is that what this is?”

“We are a group, yes,” he replies, taking his arm away from the light and pulling his sleeve back down to cover the mark. “We call ourselves the Disciples, and we believe in one singular mission - protecting the people of Sanctum from all threats, at any cost.”

“The Disciples,” Murphy repeats, slowly, casting an eye over the townspeople who, if he’s honest, don’t look threatening in the slightest. “Right, not cult-like at all.”

If he finds this humorous at all, Jaha doesn’t let on. “We protect the people of Sanctum from  _ all  _ threats,” he repeats, “both outside, and in.” 

Murphy’s eyes narrow as he slowly starts to try and figure out what exactly the priest is saying. None of his guesses make the slightest bit of sense, but then again, there’s nothing about this situation that’s entirely logical, either. “Fine, it’s not a cult,” he says. “You’re a glorified block watch, then.”

“Come now, Mister Murphy,” Jaha says, “surely you’re smarter than this. Did Mister Blake not explain to you the truth about our town?”

“Not this again,” he says with a sigh, but there’s a small voice in the back of his head that, despite the absurdity of the story, is starting to believe it. Every single odd experience he’s had in this town would be explained by Bellamy’s story of the Troubles and their effects - but that can’t seriously be true. He can’t possibly have stumbled into a magical town that defies all laws of science every twenty two years for no apparent reason at all, while still managing to keep it a secret from every government official in the world. 

Jaha grins yet again. “So he did tell you, then. I figured as much.”

Murphy’s in no position to cling to the bounds of reason since, as far as he can tell, there’s nothing reasonable about this situation in the slightest, so he shrugs his reluctant agreement. “You know what? Sure. Let’s pretend that’s the truth, that everyone in this town has a so-called Trouble. That doesn’t explain why you brought me here, or what you want.”

“Not everyone,” Jaha replies quickly. His rush to answer betrays the first bit of emotion he’s displayed this entire encounter. “Not everyone in Sanctum is Troubled, as you say. In fact, the majority are not. Mostly, the town is made up of everyday people, such as myself.”

The language he’s using and the situation at large are beginning to make sense to Murphy, but he isn’t sure he likes the answers. “That’s what this is, then, isn’t it?” he says, casting an eye over the crowd of people watching the two of them. “All of you  _ Disciples  _ with the tattoo - you’re all regular people, then? None of you have Troubles?” It makes him cringe internally to use the word “troubles” like that unironically, but he manages to keep a straight face. 

“Precisely,” Jaha replies. “As I said - we protect the people of Sanctum from all threats, both outside and in. We hold the common people’s interests the highest, and do our best to make sure that the Troubled do not bring harm upon our community - by any means necessary.”

Murphy’s eyes narrow, hoping that he’s not correctly understanding what it seems that the priest is saying to him. “Aren’t the Troubled innocent citizens, too? Do you really think you’re better than them?”

“I didn’t say that,” he says, “but we are at more of a risk than them -  _ because  _ of what they can do. They are a threat to us, our town, and our very livelihood.”

“Then leave,” Murphy snaps in response. He may not believe this elaborate lie that’s being spun around him, but he’s seen enough that he can recognize the ulterior motives behind Jaha’s words. “If you don’t like them living here, then leave.”

“Sanctum was ours, first,” he replies, “and it will be again. Until then - the Disciples will protect it. It is well within our right to defend our town against this threat.”

Murphy shakes his head, but he knows it’s not worth his time to press the moral qualms of the group here. “How?” he asks instead, genuinely hoping to find out. “How do you plan on protecting it, exactly?”

“Oh, I expect that she’ll be here soon,” he replies, smiling softly. “In fact - Anders, would you go and check on her arrival? Take everyone with you - Mister Murphy and I require some time alone.” One of the men nods in confirmation at this, and then slowly, everyone in the room who had been silent the entire time starts slipping into the shadows. He can hear the sounds of wooden stairs being climbed, and then a door opening, but it doesn’t give Murphy any signs as to where they might be. 

When everyone has gone and he’s alone with the priest, only then does he start to miss their presence. Somehow, the room is twenty times creepier with just the two of them in it, but he does his best to swallow his fear and continue on. “What does that mean? Who are you talking about?” Murphy asks. 

Jaha sighs, making it clear that he’s growing frustrated having to answer all of Murphy’s questions. “You’ll meet her soon enough,” he says. “We’ll bring her here, too, if she won’t cooperate. Perhaps it will be nice for you to have some company.”

At this, Murphy pales just slightly. “How long are you planning on keeping me here?”

“Six months or so,” he replies, “or, at least, until it is time for you to go.”

“Time for me to -  _ what?  _ What do you want with me?”

Jaha’s eyes seem to light up at this, showing his deep satisfaction with the plan he’s put in place. He steps closer to where Murphy’s restrained in the chair and leans down, so that rather than looming over him, they’re now on the same level. “You truly don’t remember?” he asks, voice quiet. “You have no idea of your purpose, do you?”

This whole time, he’s tried to play it cool and confident, but now that he’s been presented with some of Jaha’s true plans, fear is starting to creep in. Murphy’s been trained for situations like this, sure, but he’s still human, after all. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, forcing his emotion out of his words. 

The priest’s eyes continue to shine in pure, sadistic delight. “The people of Sanctum like to forget what happens every twenty-two years,” he says. “It is easier, I suppose, to forget. Those like your cop friend, Mister Blake, well, they were far too young to know what occurred the last time the Troubles ravaged our town. But I remember. I remember everything.”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Murphy replies through gritted teeth. 

“I watched as the Troubles plagued my congregation and then the town at large,” Jaha continues on, as if he’d never spoken. “I watched as friends died. I watched as the plague killed my son.”

So that’s the reason, then, Murphy realizes. “I’m sorry for that,” he says, and he means it, no matter how twisted Jaha’s become. The death of a child might explain some of why he’s become the way he is, and as he thinks about it, it’s as if Charmaine Diyoza’s wails are echoing all around the empty room. 

“They killed my son,” Jaha repeats, “and then, after all that was done, I watched as  _ you  _ ended the Troubles, leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces of what you left behind.”

Murphy blinks, not quite sure what to say. “I’ve never been here before,” he says, slowly. “I - I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

At this, Jaha’s eyes narrow, and his tone grows darker. “You can pretend with everyone else in this town that you are unaware of what you are and the chaos you bring,” he snaps, “but you can’t fool me. I remember you. I sent you that newspaper headline so that you would see that we know who you are.”

“You sent me the newspaper?” he repeats. “You have to realize, then, that wasn’t  _ me.  _ I think that might have been my father, and I’m sorry, if it’s him you’re looking for I don’t know anything about him.”

“Yes, you were going by  _ Alex  _ at the time,” Jaha replies, standing up straight so that he’s far taller than Murphy yet again. “Different name, different personality, same face.”

_ Alex.  _ His father’s name was Alex. It’s not the time, not by a longshot, to feel any sort of hope, but this information and connection to his past sends an electric shot of motivation through his chest. He’s closer, now, to piecing together parts of his past and just how exactly he’s connected to this town - that is, if he ever gets out of the priest’s basement. “I don’t know him,” he says, again, hoping to get through to Jaha. “I can’t tell you anything about him.”

“And yet, once again, your arrival has triggered the plague,” Jaha says, looking at Murphy as if to say  _ gotcha!  _ “Every twenty-two years, the devil brings his chaos and strife and tests our town, tests  _ me,  _ and when he leaves, it leaves with him. Only this time, I was ready for you. I saw you coming, and I’ve won.”

The realization of what exactly he’s saying dawns on Murphy, slowly, and he has to fight the urge to laugh. “I’m not the devil, dude.”

“And yet, you wear his face,” the priest says, “and you bring his Troubles. Six months from now, the anomaly will open, and when you enter it, the Troubles will end. This is what happens every twenty-two years, and it will happen again. I will  _ ensure  _ it happens again, by keeping you here so that you cannot escape my clutches.  _ That  _ is how the Disciples will protect our town.”

Murphy doesn’t have the time to unpack most of that, other than it’s clear that Jaha’s convinced the Troubles, whatever they are, are some sort of biblical plague that he’s got to fight. Perhaps, because he looks so much like the his father, the man in the photograph, Jaha’s convinced that he’s the very same man and he plays a part in the Troubles themselves, and this is all nothing more than a very unstable man’s delusion - but that doesn’t help him get out of there. “I’m very sorry for what happened to your son,” he says, carefully, “but I’m not who you think I am. I’m not-”

“Don’t talk about my son,” Jaha snaps, “not when it is your wickedness that killed him.”

Murphy bites his tongue, knowing they’ve entered dangerous territory. He isn’t sure what to say. Nothing, it looks like, will convince him that he’s not the devil reincarnated. He wonders if everyone else in this cult, the Disciples, if they all know that their leader is insane. “I’m sorry,” is all he settles on, though he knows very well this will do nothing. 

“I’m sure you are,” Jaha says, and then he shakes his head and the anger vanishes, the man returning to his calm facade. “You best get comfortable, Mister Murphy. You’re going to be here awhile.” With that, he turns and climbs the stairs and leaves, slamming the door on his way out. A small amount of dust falls from the ceiling on impact, shimmering against the dull glow of the singular lightbulb. 

The ceiling above him creaks, echoing through the newfound silence. Murphy wonders hesitantly if he’ll ever get out of there. He wonders if he’ll ever get a chance to go find Bellamy, and to tell him that maybe there is something to the story he told about the Troubles and that he’s sorry for yelling at him and not trusting him. 

As he thinks about him, the image of Bellamy wandering down the street reading that book fills his mind, and despite it all Murphy can’t help but smile. There was and still is something so charming about the scene, even if it almost ended in Bellamy’s untimely demise. He wants to see that again, he thinks. He wants to see him in his oversized jacket and reading - 

Murphy realizes, then, that he doesn’t know what book Bellamy was so invested in at the time it almost caused him to get hit by a truck. He can’t even picture the cover. It doesn’t make any sense, but not knowing this sends a wave of despair through Murphy’s chest because, truly, he doesn’t know if he’ll get a chance to ask. There’s so much he doesn’t know. There’s so much he  _ wants  _ to know. 

The lightbulb flickers above him once, and then twice, as if beating alongside his own heart. Murphy sits in silence, and he begins to realize, now, that he is very, very alone. 

* * *

No more than an hour goes by before he hears the door from up above open again. When he carefully looks at the source of the sound, he can see just a few rays of light shine into the underground room when it does, followed by the entrance of a few people and one girl who, quite clearly, does not want to be there. “Let me go!” she cries, several times. The voice sounds vaguely familiar to him, but he can’t tell who it is yet. 

“Settle  _ down _ ,” someone else says, just as the group comes into view. Two of the Disciples emerge first, holding a woman between them that is doing her best to struggle her way out of their hold. Jaha enters behind them, but Murphy doesn’t focus on him. He looks at the girl, eyes widening as the light shines on her face and he realizes just who it is. 

“Raven?” he says, his voice enough to surprise her so that she stops struggling. 

“Murphy?” she says, just as shocked to see him as he is to see her. “What are you doing here? What is he doing here?”

At this, the two men holding her by the arms shove her forwards, with so much force that she loses her footing and falls to the floor. “What the hell?” Murphy says, but neither Disciple nor Jaha look all that apologetic. 

“I told you that you would meet her soon,” Jaha says, shrugging. “Miss Reyes is going to help us protect Sanctum, as I said.”

“Like hell I am,” Raven replies. She’s still on the ground, holding herself up by her hands, though she turns her head to look at Jaha with fire in her eyes. 

“You can stay here until you come to your senses,” Jaha says, completely unbothered. “Remember - if you do not cooperate, we can always pay your Troubled wife a visit. What was her name? Emori, was it not?”

Raven’s trembling slightly, though it’s not clear if it’s from the strain of holding herself up or anger. “Leave her alone. Whatever all this is, leave her out of it.”

“Think about what I said,” is all Jaha replies, and then he and the two other Disciples turn and leave, the door slamming shut yet again. 

Murphy turns to her, eyes wide. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, “but what the hell are you doing here?”

She turns, slowly, so that she’s sitting with her hands behind her back, and her legs out in front of her. They haven’t restrained her in any way, like they did to him, but he sees that the metal brace around her left leg has been damaged, so much so that he doubts it’s doing anything to support her, and might even be causing her more pain than usual to walk. “Could ask you the same question,” she says, looking up at him. 

Truthfully, he doesn’t know her all that well, but they’re both in the same predicament - he’s got nothing to lose. “Jaha thinks I’m that I’m the literal devil and by keeping me here, he’s protecting the town,” he says, fighting the urge to laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds. 

Raven smiles, ever so slightly. “What a coincidence - he thinks I’m an angel.”

“Really?”

“At least, he thinks I have the power of the angels to ‘rid Sanctum of its curse,’” she says. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Neither do I,” he says, sighing. “How did he get you here, though? Did you see anything as to where we might be?”

She hums in affirmation. “Yeah, we’re on Arkadia Island.”

“I’m sorry - an  _ island?” _

“I forgot you’re new,” she says. “It’s just off the coast of Sanctum. The wall of fog literally cuts it in half, so Troubled people can only visit half of it. It’s small and uninhabited, and people stay away during times like this to keep away from the fog, but Emori and I like to go out and visit it from time to time, just to get away from it all, you know? Anyways, that’s where we were when those assholes jumped me and took me down to this bunker.”

He’s listening to her, he is, but admittedly she loses him a bit when she starts talking about the Troubles. Yet again, he’s confronted with the notion that maybe there’s truth to this story, and that everything Bellamy said was true. He doesn’t know how to cope with that thought or that reality, but the more than he thinks about it, the more he  _ wants  _ to. He wants to understand, if that means being okay with the supernatural, then - maybe he’ll just have to deal with it. 

Raven’s watching him carefully. “Bellamy was telling you the truth about Sanctum - you know that, right?”

“You know that he talked to me about it?”

“I know everything,” she says with a smile, and he’s beginning to suspect that’s true. “Bellamy also told me that, though. Believe it or not, but we’re actually friends, and he was pretty upset when you walked away.”

Murphy cringes slightly at the memory, wishing that he could go back and act differently. “Yeah, I know. I just - it doesn’t make sense. How could that be true?”

“It is true,” she says, without missing a beat. “If you don’t want to believe it, that’s your business, but it  _ is  _ true.”

“Yeah,” he replies, slowly, “it would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

She sighs. “Again - I don’t really care if you don’t believe it, but you’ve seen Troubles going on right in front of you. How else can you explain what happened on the cliffs with Hope? Or the fact that Bellamy can’t feel anything? Do you really think that’s all just a lie?”

_ I can’t feel anything, but I feel you,  _ Bellamy had said to him when he’d tried to explain the truth of the Troubles. When he’d gone back to the newspaper’s office, Jasper had told him that his Trouble hadn’t worked when they’d shook hands, even though by every right it should have. Back on the cliffs, when he’d confronted Hope, her Trouble of making people see whatever they feared most when they looked at her hadn’t worked on him. It had been enough to send Bellamy to his knees, but he hadn’t seen anything different. When the wall of fog had shown up around Sanctum, he’d somehow seen it first, before anyone else. 

He hasn’t wanted to confront this reality, but the more he thinks about it, the more it all starts to piece together. None of the Troubles seem to have any effect on him, no matter what they are. His father, he knows, was here twenty-two years ago, meaning that Murphy could be from Sanctum and not even know it. 

Murphy could be Troubled himself, and not even know it. 

“I think,” he says, slowly, “I think it’s real. It’s all real.”

Raven scoffs. “Great job, genius. Of course it’s real. My wife has to wear thick gloves for six months now because if she touches my skin, or  _ anyone’s  _ skin, it hurts them. That’s pretty real to me.”

“Hey, you’ve had your whole life to come to terms with this,” he fires back. “I just heard about it  _ today.  _ Cut me some slack.”

“You work for the government, don’t you?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Despite their situation, Raven begins to grin. “What, you don’t seriously think the government is in the dark about this, do you? They know very well what goes on.”

“There’s no way,” he says, shaking his head. “How would they believe that? Even if they did, how would they hide that?” The more he keeps talking, however, the more he realizes that they very well  _ could  _ hide it. 

“I’m sure the roadblocks are already set up just outside the wall of fog,” she says. “The harbour’s closed, at least for now. It’s only six months.”

“Only six months,” he repeats, sighing. “It’s going to be a very long six months for me and you, though, if we don’t get out of here.”

Raven pauses, biting her lip before she adjusts her position so she’s sitting up straighter. “Yeah, I - I don’t know what Jaha wants from me, but I can’t leave.”

“Pretty sure the door up there is locked, so no, I don’t imagine you could.”

She glares at him for a moment before continuing. “No, he - Emori’s here, somewhere, and I’m sure she’s looking for me. If I don’t cooperate with Jaha, he will kill her.”

“Do you really think he’d kill her?”

“The Disciples want every Troubled person gone, right?” she says. “I’m pretty sure killing them is  _ exactly  _ what they want to do.”

He sighs, nodding. After all, they sacrificed one of their own just to bring him here, so murdering the Troubled fit their agenda perfectly. “You’re not Troubled, though, are you? So, what - do they just want you to join them?”

“I don’t know,” she says, softly. “Jaha said something about how my mother was the key, and I inherited a birthright, or something, but - my mother died when I was young. I don’t know anything about her or my father.”

“Neither do I,” he says, and when she looks him the eye, a silent understanding passes between them. Both of them have next to no connection to their past, and though they don’t have to say it, they can relate to what the other is feeling in a way nobody else can. 

She sighs again, clearly frustrated. “I obviously don’t agree with anything that Jaha says or does, but if pretending to play along in his scheme here means that Emori is safe, then I’m going to do it.”

It’s reason enough for her to make that decision, but there’s something else just underlying it, and Murphy thinks he knows what it is. “And if you stay, maybe he’ll tell you more about what he knows about your parents.”

“Yeah,” she says, softly, “maybe.”

“I hope you learn what you want to know.”

She nods. “Thank you,” she says, and then clears her throat to shatter the emotion of the moment. “Now - just because I can’t leave, doesn’t mean you can’t.” At this, she tries to shift so that she can move to a standing position and make her way over to him, but when she tries to forcefully move her bad leg he sees her wince in pain several times. 

“Raven, don’t,” he says, trying to get her to stop. “It’s fine. I’ll figure out another way - and it’s not like I’m in danger. I can’t do what he wants me to do.”

“He wants you to end the Troubles?” she says, hissing in pain as her last attempt at standing fails. The brace around her leg seems to be broken in such a way that it’s harming her, rather than helping. 

“Yeah,” he replies, “and I obviously can’t do that.”

“Well,” she says, “I guess you’ll have to hope Bellamy’s worried enough about you that he comes looking.”

He nods, knowing full well that if he even notices he’s missing, Bellamy likely won’t come for him - instead, he’ll assume he skipped town, and that will be that. He’ll never see him again, and he’ll never get to explain, and he’ll never get to ask him what that book was. 

Murphy’s self-pitying thoughts vanish when he hears the door open and close, followed by a singular person hurrying down the stairs. He’s expecting Jaha and another round of meaningless back and forth, but when the soft glow of the lightbulb reveals who it is, he’s completely taken aback. “Charmaine,” he says, quietly, watching as Hope Diyoza’s mother steps into the center of the room. 

She looks at him, for a second, before coming next to him. “I’m sorry about all this,” she says, her words quiet and rushed as she pulls out a small pocket knife from her jacket. 

“Whoa, hey,” he says, but before he has a chance to say more, she’s using the knife to cut right through the bindings on his wrists. Without a word, she leans down and cuts the rope around his legs, too, freeing him completely. 

“I know you tried to help my daughter,” she says as she stands, moving over to Raven, “and for that, I owe you. This makes us even.”

“Thank you,” he says, standing slowly, his legs aching from disuse. The headache that he’d gotten from being knocked out had never truly gone away, and now that he’s moving comes back in full force, but he forces himself to ignore all this and carry on. “You don’t owe me anything.”

She doesn’t reply to this, and instead kneels down to examine Raven’s brace. “How can I help?” she asks. 

Now that he’s standing and can move closer to her, Murphy sees from Raven’s expression that she’s in far more pain than she let on. “Leave it, it’s fine,” she says, “I can’t go.”

“Don’t be stupid, Raven,” he says, glancing up at the door to make sure no one else is coming. “We can both get out of here, now, and we can make sure Emori’s safe.”

“I can’t even walk right now,” she snaps, with enough force that Charmaine stands, moving away from her. “Just - get out of here, and make sure Emori is okay. I’ll be fine. Jaha needs me for something, right? I’ll be fine.”

“We don’t have long,” Charmaine says. “Soon, someone will realize I’m not at my post, and they will come down here to check what’s going on.”

Murphy glances at her. “You’re a Disciple?”

“Jaha asked me to join yesterday,” she says, her voice quiet. It hasn’t been very long at all since her daughter fell from the cliff’s edge. “He told me that the group was meant to help Troubled people - but it isn’t. He wants to capture, or even kill, any Troubled person that might have difficulty managing their affliction - people like my daughter.” 

“We figured as much,” Murphy says, glancing over at Raven. 

For a moment, it looks like the sorrow of what happened is going to swallow Charmaine whole, but then she recovers and starts moving towards the stairs. “If you’re staying, then you’re staying,” she says to Raven, “but time’s up. It’s now or never.”

Murphy lingers for a second. “Don’t make me leave you here,” he says to her. 

Raven only smiles. “I’m sure I’ll be out of here soon enough,” she says, “and when I am, my wife better be safe.”

“When they come down and discover I’m gone, they might-”

“My wife better be safe,” she repeats, louder this time. 

Murphy bites his lip, pain in his chest from having to do this. “She will be,” he promises, and though he doesn’t say anything else, he silently vows to come back for her as soon as possible. If he could, he’d force her to leave with them, but Charmaine likely can’t leave her post unattended for much longer and he doesn’t know if he’d be able to get Raven out of here on his own. 

He’s coming back for her. He’s going to come back for her, no matter what. 

With that, he nods at her, silently expressing so much more than he hopes she understands, and then he follows Charmaine up the stairs and out of the bunker. 

The sun has long since set when they get outside, meaning that many, many more hours had passed than he’d realized. Overhead, the full moon shines brilliantly, cascading the scene in a white glow. All around them the air is cold and the sounds of the ocean are loud, proving that they are, in fact, on an island. A thick layer of forest is on his right, and only a little ways beyond that he can hear the sea.

When he looks to his left, he sees the wall of fog, only a few metres away. It’s somewhat transparent, and just behind it he can see the outline of a cabin where he suspects more of the Disciples are staying, but he doesn’t attempt to cross the threshold. If his theory is right, and he, too, is Troubled, then he wouldn’t be able to make it through the wall, anyway. 

Charmaine closes the bunker door behind her, no more than a small hatch in the middle of the ground. “You’ve got to go,” she says. “I’ll stay here so that they don’t think anything is wrong. It will give you more time.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, hoping that she understands just how deeply he appreciates everything she’s done, despite the fact that he’d failed to save her daughter not too long ago. “For this, I owe you.”

“Call it even,” she says, and then she tilts her head, silently urging him to be on his way. He knows he has to go before any of the other Disciples show up, but he doesn’t want to leave her behind, and he doesn’t want to leave Raven trapped down there in the dark. It’s cruel, he thinks, to leave her. 

Still, he knows that her best chance is if he leaves and gets help to get her out, so with one last look, he turns and races into the jungle as fast as he can. The moon shines above him, illuminating his path as he kicks up dirt and stumbles through the trees. The sound of the ocean is getting louder and louder until finally, he makes it to the island’s beach. 

When he gets there, he sees the beach is empty, save for two boats that are docked in the shallow water. One of them is the one that Finn’s body had been found in that, no doubt, had been used to bring Murphy over to the island. The other one is slightly larger with the word  _ Rubicon  _ on the side, meaning that this is Emori and Raven’s boat. Yet again, he feels his heart sink as he realizes that means Emori is still here, and he’s going to have to convince her to leave her own wife behind so they can go and get more help to save her. 

He lingers, for a moment, but he knows that he’s going to have to tell Emori exactly what’s happened - and so he steps out onto the beach. If she’s angry enough with him that she ends up leaving him behind on the beach, well, then - he supposes he’ll just have to deal with that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea if anybody reads them but i am in the process of changing the chapter summaries to be quotes from any poem that i'm feeling at the second that uses the word "time" so that's why this one was different haha. also - apologies for the somewhat sudden ending, but this chapter was getting ridiculously long so i cut it there and moved some over to chapter six. hope that's alright!
> 
> big thank you to reading and the people who have left me very lovely comments it means a lot to me so thank you <3


	6. time lost listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you?  
> All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own,  
> Else it were time lost listening to me.  
> I do not snivel that snivel the world over,  
> That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth."

As it turns out, Murphy doesn’t have to try very hard to find Emori. She does all the work for him by bounding out of the boat the second she sees him walk onto the beach, her eyes wide with concern and fear. None of it, though, is for him. “Murphy,” she calls, “what are you doing here?”

He quickly takes a look behind him, scanning the edge of the trees, confirming that they’re alone. “Emori, I know this isn’t going to make sense, but we have to leave,” he says once he turns back, keeping his voice low and hoping she picks up on the hint. 

She looks him up and down, taking in his disheveled appearance, and then she shakes her head slightly as if deciding that she doesn’t actually care. “Look, Raven’s missing,” she says, walking past him slightly and looking through the trees where he’d just come from. “And with that other boat being here, I think - she might be in trouble.”

“About that,” Murphy says, but then he stops, because how exactly is he supposed to explain that he left her wife behind in an underground bunker with an insane cult and now they need to leave the island altogether?

“Murphy,” she says, slowly, “where is she?”

“Emori-”

“ _ Where is she? _ ”

Murphy holds up a hand in surrender, realizing that they’re never going to get off this island if she doesn’t get some answers, something he can’t blame her for. “You heard anything about that tattoo we kept finding on bodies?”

“The Disciples,” she answers. “Yeah, I know about them.”

“How do you - right, you know everything,” he says with a sigh, vowing to stop getting surprised by that. “Well, they’re here on this island - just past the wall of fog, I think.”

She shrugs, gesturing for him to get to the point. “So? They’re nothing more than a neighbourhood block watch.”

_ That’s what I said,  _ he wants to reply, but he holds his tongue. Something tells him that bonding over this situation is not one of Emori’s priorities right now. “It’s different, now. Jaha’s leading them, and they want to end the Troubles for good by killing every Troubled person in Sanctum - or, at the very least, locking them up so they can’t hurt anyone.”

“No Troubled person  _ wants  _ to hurt people,” Emori snaps. 

“I know that,” he says, quickly, “but they clearly don’t. They took me to a bunker here, on this island, and sometime later they took Raven and brought her there as well. I only got out because Charmaine Diyoza helped me escape.”

Emori blinks, her gloved hand forming a fist by her side. “They took Raven?” she repeats, voice low. 

“Yes,” he says, “and I’m sorry, but we have to go, get some backup, and then we can come back and help her.”

She’s not listening to anything he’s saying, though, he can tell. “They took Raven,” she says, “and you  _ left her there? _ ”

“I didn’t want to!” he cries, quickly checking once more to make sure no one has followed him and they’re still alone. “Her leg brace is broken, so she can’t walk. Charmaine and I were going to help her out but she wanted to stay to protect you!”

Emori blinks, not expecting this. “She wanted to stay?”

“She knew you were still here,” Murphy explains, “and she also knew the Disciples would kill you if you tried anything against them, so she made me promise to get you to safety.”

She bites her lip, thoughts racing a million miles an hour. “Stupid,” she mutters. “She’s so  _ stupid _ sometimes.”

“We can rescue her,” he pushes, trying again, “but we’ve got to go back to Sanctum and get help, okay? So let’s get on the boat and do that.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“We can’t do this alone. We need help.”

Emori looks out at the empty beach and the trees, and then shakes her head and takes a step forward. “You have help. You have me.”

“Wait!” he hisses, lunging forwards to grab her arm by the sleeve and stop her from leaving. “Don’t be rash about this. They took my gun, which means that at the very least, they’re armed and we’re not. Even without that, there are dozens of them on this island, probably more of them beyond that wall of fog, okay? We don’t stand a chance here.”

She looks at him with fire in her eyes, then moves her gaze down to the grip he’s got on her arm. “Let go of me,” she whispers. 

“Listen to me-”

“Let  _ go _ !” she snaps, and then in one fluid motion she shakes the glove off of her right hand and brings it up to his, placing her bare hand on his with a great deal of force. The impact hurts, slightly, but then all he feels is her cold skin against his. When nothing else happens after several seconds, she blinks in tremendous surprise. “I don’t understand.”

Realization floods into his mind as he remembers what Raven had said back in the bunker.  _ If she touches my skin, or anyone’s skin, it hurts them,  _ she’d said about her wife’s Trouble. Clearly, Emori was trying to forcibly get him to let her go by using her Trouble against him. “About that,” he sighs, “Troubles don’t really seem to work on me.”

“Troubles don’t -  _ what _ ?”

“Look, I don’t know why, okay?” he says. “They just - they don’t work on me. Bellamy’s doesn’t, Jasper’s doesn’t, Hope’s didn’t, and now yours doesn’t, either. I think it’s safe enough to say I’m just - immune to them, or something.” It’s hard to explain something, he realizes, when he doesn’t fully understand it himself. 

The turn of events is enough to shake her from her grief-fueled determination, for a moment. “Immune to the Troubles,” she says, slowly, musing on this. “Does that mean  _ you’re  _ Troubled?”

“I think so,” he says. “My father was from Sanctum - or at least, he was here twenty-two years ago, the last time the Troubles were here.”

“The fog stops Troubled people from leaving during this time, and the government shuts down the town from the outside, so nobody else can come in,” Emori says quickly, as if this is common knowledge. To her, he realizes, and to everyone else in this town, it is. “If your father was here the last time the Troubles were here, then yeah, there’s a good chance he had a Trouble - and so do you.”

He had already guessed as much, but it feels surprisingly good to have it said aloud like that.  _ He’s Troubled.  _ It explains why he’d felt such a strong connection this town, and why he’d wanted to stay so badly. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that it explains  _ everything  _ about his life. Still - there’s something else that’s bothering him now that he’s learned it. “The government shuts down the town from the outside,” he repeats, “but if that’s true, why would my boss have sent me here right as the Troubles were coming back? Surely he would know the truth about this town, wouldn’t he?”

“Yeah, he probably does know the truth about Sanctum.”

“So why send me here, right now, in the middle of everything?”

“Maybe,” Emori says, glancing back down at his hand that’s still holding her arm, “he just doesn’t like you.”

He glares at her, momentarily, but then he lets go of her arm. When he does, she brushes off her sleeve in the place he’d been holding, as if cleaning off the remnants of his touch. “Seriously, though,” he says, “that doesn’t make sense. He should have told me, right?” 

She rolls her eyes, turning back to look at the trees once more. “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she snaps. “I mean -  _ I  _ don’t like you very much.”

“Well-”

“Seeing as, you know, you left my wife in a hole in the ground.”

“I’m  _ sorry _ !” he hisses. “I didn’t want to! We really should go, though. They’re going to realize I’ve escaped soon, and they’re going to come looking, and they’re going to kill you if they find you.”

She scoffs. “You’re Troubled too, aren’t you? Wasn’t that what we just figured out?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“They didn’t kill you when they had the chance,” she interrupts him, “so maybe there’s more going on here than you think. Either way, I’m not leaving. If you want to hop on the other boat there and sail away, go for it.”

“I don’t know how to sail!”

She looks back at him for a moment, pure contempt in her eyes. “That’s not my problem.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed if you go alone,” he says, “and then what good are you to Raven? You can’t save her if you don’t even make it there.”

“Then help me,” she snaps. “I’m not leaving her. If they kill me, they kill me, but at least I’ll die trying to save the woman I love, okay?”

And, well, he can’t argue with that. “Fine. Fine, but I-” 

The sound of a branch breaking immediately quiets him. Both of them snap their heads to look for the source of the sound, only to see a boy no older than eighteen stumble out of the woods. It takes him a second to realize that there are others standing on the beach, but when he does, he immediately stiffens and raises a handgun. “You’re not supposed to be here!” he calls out, though his voice sounds anything but threatening. 

Slowly, Murphy raises his hands. They’re too late, he realizes, as he sees the edges of that very same tattoo just visible past the boy’s sleeve. “We don’t want any trouble,” Murphy says, realizing the irony of the sentence only after he’s said it. 

The boy’s hands are shaking as the barrel of the weapon immediately shifts and points at Murphy. Above them, the moon casts its glow upon them, making him appear even paler as he trembles slightly in fear. A moment passes, and then recognition dawns on his face. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in the bunker?”

He winces, knowing it’s going to be infinitely harder to get out of the situation now. “So, about that-”

Murphy’s silenced by a roaring  _ bang  _ and the eruption of a stinging pain near his left shoulder. He presses his right hand to the site instantly, fingers coming away with a slight trail of blood. A bullet has grazed his skin, he can tell, and though the wound is more superficial than anything else it doesn’t change the fact that he’s just been shot at. “Holy shit, kid,” he mutters. 

The boy’s face is pale and he’s trembling more, now. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, quickly. “Just - it was supposed to be a warning shot.”

“Yeah, well, you missed,” Murphy mutters. He doesn’t think the wound is going to cause him any problems, but he’s tired, his head still hurts, and however small it is, the blood loss isn’t going to help any of that. 

“Fuck, this is - oh, man,” the boy is saying, over and over again, and the longer it goes on the more sick Murphy feels as he realizes that Jaha’s not above getting kids to join his cause. He’s not prepared for this, not even remotely. 

Suddenly, though, the cries stop and the boy  _ screams  _ in pure agony. Murphy’s gaze snaps up in shock. The whole time the gun had gone off and their exchange was occuring, Emori had been creeping closer to him, and now she was standing right next to him, her ungloved hand gripped tightly around his wrist. Even as the boy keeps screaming, she doesn’t let go. The gun falls from his hand onto the sandy ground below and he sinks to his knees, his eyes eventually rolling back into his head as he loses consciousness. Only then does Emori remove her hand from his skin, calmly bending down to pick up his discarded weapon. 

“Your Trouble did that?” Murphy asks, walking over to her. He notices, somewhat warily, that she stuffs her glove into her pocket rather than putting it back on her hand. 

Emori only hums in affirmation, before holding out her hand to give him the gun. “You know how to shoot, right?”

He nods, taking it from her. Thankfully, he’s right-handed, so his newly acquired gunshot wound won’t interfere if he needs to use the gun. Hesitantly, he looks down at the unconscious body of the kid. “He’s going to be fine, right?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” she says. “I just had to make sure he wouldn’t follow us.”

Murphy sighs, checking the gun and seeing that it’s nearly fully loaded. It’s not the one that was taken from him when he was captured, though, which means that it’s more than likely most of the Disciples are armed, too. “Okay,” he says, “so what’s your plan here, then?”

“You’re really going to help me?”

He’s still holding the gun, so he’s not sure why she has to ask, but he gets the sense that Emori isn’t used to accepting help from other people. “Raven made me promise to keep you safe,” he says. “If I really can’t convince you to leave and get back-up from Sanctum, well, then, I guess I have no choice but to come with you.”

She bites her lip, looking through the trees. “You’re a lot like Bellamy, you know that?”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” she says, sighing softly. “You’re the only two people who can’t feel my Trouble, too - that counts for something.”

Bellamy’s words of  _ I can’t feel anything, but I feel you  _ play on repeat in his mind and he smiles. Maybe, just maybe, there’s an upside to this whole ‘being Troubled’ business. The thought of Bellamy, though, makes him think yet again about that stupid book he was reading when they first met and how he still doesn’t know its title. Once they rescue Raven and get out of there, he silently vows, he’s  _ going  _ to find out what it’s called. “You still haven’t told me your plan,” he reminds her. 

“The plan, right,” she says, and then pauses for a moment. “The plan is to rescue my wife.” Then, with that, she walks into the trees, and Murphy has no choice but to follow. 

* * *

Not much time has passed, and so Charmaine is still standing guard outside the entrance to the bunker. There doesn’t seem to be anybody else in the clearing. Murphy knows that if the rest of the Disciples are hiding behind the wall of fog, waiting to strike, then he and Emori stand no chance - so he reveals himself. 

Charmaine’s eyes narrow instantly as she sees him, scanning the clearing as well to ensure that they’re alone. “You were supposed to leave,” she hisses, and then as Emori reveals herself to be there as well, she throws her hands up in defeat. “And you brought a friend. Great. Why do I try?”

“We’re getting Raven out,” he replies. “So - you don’t have to come, or help us. You’ve already done more than enough for me.”

“Damn right, I have,” she replies. 

Murphy nervously checks the clearing again, growing slightly suspicious that they’ve only ran into one Disciple back on the beach. “We don’t have long,” he says. “You don’t have to help us, just let us in the bunker.”

“The gunshot was you, then?”

He blinks, realizing that of course she would have heard the gun go off. The trail of blood on his arm from the wound only serves to confirm this, too. “Yeah. Like I said, we don’t have long.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Seems that way.”

Charmaine looks like she’s going to argue with him more, but then she sighs. “Hope would have helped you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begins, but immediately Charmaine stops him, by holding up a hand. 

“Hope would have helped you,” she says, again, stumbling over her words for only a second as emotion threatens to break her voice in two. Murphy’s once again reminded of the time frame of all the events that have gone on in the past little while, and he remembers that the woman in front of him only lost her daughter a few days ago. “I’m not my daughter, but I can try to live how she would want me too.”

He nods, understanding what she’s trying to say. Slowly, Charmaine stands aside, opening the bunker door for them both to enter. Murphy casts another glance at Emori, who is holding out her ungloved hand like the weapon that it can be, and then he descends down into the darkly lit space. 

Raven’s still there, right in the same spot she was when he’d left. The door above them closes as soon as they enter, so that the one singular lightbulb in the ceiling casts a dim, ghastly light over everyone. Slowly, Murphy makes it down the stairs, pushing aside the ache in his bones as he does so and only relaxing slightly when he’s sure that there’s nobody else in the bunker but them. 

“What are you doing?” Raven asks, but she immediately loses all interest in him and his reasons for returning when her eyes catch sight of Emori entering behind him. “Emori?”

“I’m here,” Emori says, instantly pushing Murphy out of her way and kneeling down to Raven’s side, clasping her hand tightly in her still gloved one. They look as though they both want nothing more than to embrace each other, but Emori’s Trouble prevents them from doing so. He’s only known them for a couple of days, really, but he’s seen the amount of love they have for one another. There’s no way that Emori would potentially put Raven at risk of feeling the level of pain she can inflict on people, even if she wants nothing more than to simply hold her. 

Raven’s eyes are wet with tears and she’s smiling, but then she catches sight of Murphy and her gaze hardens, slightly. “What are you doing?” she asks. “I told you to get her to safety, not bring her back here!”

This marks the third time in the past hour that someone’s yelled at him for trying to get everyone safely out of a very treacherous situation, and if he’s honest, it’s starting to annoy him just a bit. “Plans change,” is all he says, before moving to Raven’s other side. “Now, come on - we’re getting you out of here.”

She glances at him, and for a moment, he thinks she’s about to refuse. He remembers what she had told him before, how Jaha knew the truth about her mother and her family lineage, and by staying she had a small chance to learn exactly what he knew about her past. Murphy feels guilty for taking that opportunity away for her, but he also knows she’s in far more danger staying here, and there’s no way she’ll openly refuse with Emori now standing here - so he keeps quiet. 

Murphy’s shoulder burns as he leans down to help Raven stand, but he pushes the pain back and ignores it, keeping the gun in his unharmed right hand so that he can fire if he needs to. Emori’s careful to securely cover her right hand in her glove and expose her left, so that she, too, can help. It takes a moment, what with all of them somewhat limited in their actions, but they manage to support Raven into a standing position. 

Emori moves away, clearly terrified of accidentally hurting her, so Raven supports herself by leaning against the wall of the bunker. “Thank you,” she says, quietly. Much like her wife, he suspects that Raven’s not used to asking for or receiving help. 

He nods, and then looks at the stairs, doing his best in his very tired mind to try and put together a plan as to how they’re going to get out of there quickly, quietly, and in one piece. It was a bad decision to come here like this, he knows, because they don’t have enough people to get Raven out and cover them in case the Disciples have caught on, and they can’t risk Charmaine being caught - 

_ Bang.  _

A gunshot sounds, but it’s muffled, having come from outside and above ground somewhere. “They’re here,” he realizes, quickly looking around the bunker, but there’s nothing they can use in their favour and, more importantly, there’s nowhere to hide. All he can do is stand in front of the two women as protectively as he can and hold his gun up towards the door, vowing that he’ll do whatever it takes to get them to safety. 

The door above them flies open, moonlight streaming into the bunker. Two men are at the top. One of them is holding a handgun, similar to the one he took from the boy at the beach. Murphy doesn’t recognize either of them, but Charmaine isn’t with them, and with a sinking feeling in his gut he realizes what the gunshot they heard meant. 

Without a pause, the men come racing down the stairs, murderous looks in their eye. Murphy doesn’t hesitate. He lines up the barrel of the gun and fires, pulling back the trigger. The bullet sinks into the calf of the man on the right, and he cries out, falling down the wooden staircase as the wound immobilizes him. He hits his head on the way down and falls limp at the bottom of the stairs, right in front of Murphy’s feet, but he doesn’t have time to check if he’s alive or not. 

The other man keeps on coming, though, even as his partner stops moving. Murphy grits his teeth and moves to fire the weapon again, but when he lines up his shot, the bullet doesn’t fire. “It’s jammed!” he cries, a desperate signal to Emori, just as the other man makes it down the stairs and plows right into Murphy. The two of them fall to the floor, Murphy’s wounded shoulder hitting the floor first and causing stars to fill his vision on impact. The gun flies out of his hand, skittering across the floor until it hits the wall. 

Murphy’s stunned and vulnerable, yet - the man has no interest in him. Just as quickly as he’d pushed him out of the way, he gets up and pulls out a small silver knife from his pocket. “Stay back!” Emori calls, holding out her hand threateningly. 

“You’re the Troubled girl, aren’t you?” the man says. Murphy’s scrambling to get back on his feet and grab a gun as his head swims. His wounds and condition are catching up to him, but now is not the time to succumb to them. 

“I am,” Emori says, “so you know what I can do to you.”

A shadow falls upon them, blocking out the cascade of moonlight pouring into the bunker. Murphy looks up at the door to see the figure of a tall man standing at the top of the stairs of the bunker, staring down and watching them all. Emori notices it too, glancing up at the newcomer and losing her focus on the standoff for only a moment. 

It’s enough, though, for the Disciple in the bunker with them to do what he was trying to do. He lunges forwards with the knife, slashing the palm of Emori’s outstretched hand. She cries out in shock, pulling her hand back. Murphy’s searching for the gun in the shadows somewhere, but he can’t see where it’s gone, let alone fix the malfunction and reassert control. There’s nothing he can do, and the Disciple now has the upper hand. 

Yet - he doesn’t use it. As soon as the cut is made, he drops the knife and steps back. The move makes no sense, but he’s smiling widely as though he’s done all he set out to do. Angrily, Emori makes a move at him, her bleeding hand connecting with his and he lets out a blood-curdling howl of agony, much like the boy on the beach did. It doesn’t take long for him to lose consciousness, too, and he falls with a  _ thump  _ to the floor. 

For a moment, silence hangs in the air. Murphy’s on his hands and knees, looking up at Emori who stands just in front of a wide-eyed Raven, hand dripping blood onto the bunker floor. Neither of the two men move as much as an inch. Moonlight shimmers over their skin as the three of them do nothing but breathe, trying to catch their breath. 

And then - the shadowy figure on the stairs begins to applaud. 

“What a show!” he says, coming down the stairs and revealing his identity to be none other than Jaha himself. “Why, that was even better than I had imagined it to be.”

Murphy’s eyes narrow as he resumes searching the floor for the gun. Finally, his hands make contact with it and he picks it up, standing on shaking legs and pointing the barrel right at Jaha. It’s most likely still jammed, he thinks, but maybe Jaha doesn’t know that. “Don’t come any closer,” he says. He’s trying to sound confident, but the tremble in his voice from exhaustion is ruining that. 

Jaha, as he always seems to do, ignores him. “The angel, the devil, and one of the damned, all together,” he says, coming to the base of the stairs and looking out over them all. “How interesting.”

“Just let us go,” Murphy tries again, “and I won’t call my boss to get him here and arrest you and all your friends on this island.” He’s bluffing right through his teeth. As he’s now learned, no government agent is going to be coming to Sanctum during the time of the Troubles, and now that he knows what he does, he doubts Zev would even answer his calls. It doesn’t make any sense to him, but - it’s a mystery for another day. 

The priest waves a hand, dismissing Murphy’s threats. “Do you see?” he says, looking right at Raven and speaking directly to her. “Do you see the chaos that they bring with them? The pain, the strife, the death that follows them in their wake?”

Raven’s shaking, slightly, though she swallows and tries to put on a brave face. “I don’t want to help you,” she says, softly. “I don’t want any part of this. Just - tell me what you know about my mother. Please, just tell me that.”

There’s no point in pleading to a man like Jaha, but Murphy understands why she’s trying. He wants nothing more than to know all that the priest knows about his own father, and if there was a way to get that information, he’d do it, no questions asked. But now - he has to get them out of here. “Raven,” he says, trying to get her to see that now is not the time, but she ignores him. 

“Tell me what you know,” she says again, looking up at him with fire in her eyes. 

“Raven, we have to go,” Emori cuts in, turning to her wife to try and get her to understand. “Just - Murphy, keep the gun on him, and we’ll walk right out of here.” 

To this, Jaha only shrugs, not saying anything to contend with their plan of action. It’s a weak one, and full of possible things that could go wrong, but the adrenaline is fading fast and they don’t have long before they lose any advantage they have. He nods his agreement at Emori, keeping the barrel lined up with Jaha’s skull. 

“No,” Raven says, voice forceful. “Tell me! Tell me what you know!”

“I suppose to find that out, you’ll have to stay with me,” Jaha replies, shrugging his shoulders yet again. 

“Yeah, that is not happening,” Emori snaps. “Raven, we can talk about all this later, just come with me back to the boat, okay? Just come with me to the boat.”

Raven’s shaking her head, eyes wild. “No, I need to know. I need to know the truth.”

Something in Emori’s gaze changes as she makes her next decision. “Don’t make me do this,” she says, very, very quietly. 

“You won’t,” Raven replies, and only then does Murphy realize what’s about to happen. 

Tears form in the corner of Emori’s eyes as she shakes her head. “I can’t let you stay here with him,” she whispers, and then she reaches forwards with her exposed hand and gently touches Raven’s wrist. Murphy winces in sympathy pain, knowing what’s about to happen. It had been an almost instantaneous effect with the other two men, so Raven must be feeling an insurmountable amount of pain. 

Except - she keeps standing tall. The blood from the cut on Emori’s palm makes contact with her skin, trickling down her arm, yet for a second, nothing happens. Slowly, Emori draws her hand away in confusion, only a small line of blood a sign that contact had ever been made at all. The air hangs heavy, and then - it happens. 

Raven grows quiet, but she stands up straight, slowly removing her hand from the wall where it had been to support her. Her brace is still broken, but her leg doesn’t appear to be in pain at all. She takes a deep breath, chest heaving as she lowers her gaze to the floor, eyes shutting tightly. The line of blood on her arm from Emori’s hand vanishes, as if it’s sinking into her skin, and in seconds, it’s as though it was never there at all. 

“Raven?” Emori whispers, caught between reaching out a hand in support and moving further away. 

Slowly, Raven seems to calm down, raising her head. When her eyes open, they’re glowing. Murphy blinks several times, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. A brilliant blue glow emits from Raven’s eyes, shining just as brightly as the moon far, far above them. “What is this?” he says. 

Jaha begins to laugh, a low and thunderous noise that echoes around the entire bunker. “The angel washes clean of the blood of the damned,” he says, “as it always was, and always shall be.”

Emori swallows, breath hitching as she stares. “Raven, we have to go,” she says, stuck repeating the same things she’s been saying this whole time as she tries to process what’s happening in front of her. “We’ll figure this out later, but we have to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Raven says, though her voice is deeper, now. Her eyes, still glowing, narrow as she steps forwards. All her weight is on her bad leg, but she doesn’t seem to notice this at all or be in the slightest amount of pain. 

“Raven-”

With a cry, Raven reaches out and shoves Emori’s chest, pushing her away. At best, the impact should have caused the other woman to stumble back a bit, but somehow it’s forceful enough to send Emori flying across the bunker, landing right where the wall and the floor meet. She only saves herself several broken bones by catching herself and rolling to a stop, hoisting herself up on her hands and knees as she comes to a stop. The breath is stolen from her lungs, but she stares at Raven, a mix of shock and betrayal in her expression. 

The glow in Raven’s eyes is fading and she steps back, clearly just as shocked at what she just did. “What’s happening to me?” she whispers, looking at her hands as though they don’t belong to her. 

“The angel of Sanctum has come to save us all,” Jaha replies, coming down the stairs to stand at her side. “Just as your mother before you - the angel always comes when we need her the most.”

“I don’t understand,” Raven says, her bad leg trembling from the weight on it, seemingly as though she’s only just now feeling any pain from it. Despite what’s just happened, Murphy feels nothing but pure sympathy as he looks over at her. He doesn’t know what’s happening to her or what any of this means, but he knows how it feels to discover something about yourself that you never thought was possible. They’re mirror images of each other in this moment, and he wants to help her, but he has no idea how. 

Emori stands, slowly, clearly in pain from the impact though she’s trying to hide it. “Come on,” she says, “we have to go.” She doesn’t take into account the obstacles she might face, or if Jaha is going to stop her, or what else she can do to help the situation. Emori turns, and then races up the stairs, getting out of the bunker as fast as she can. 

He casts one last look at Raven, watching the glow in her eyes fade to nothing at all. It’s now that she falters, losing her balance, but Jaha’s waiting to catch her in his arms. “The angel has come to save us,” he says yet again, “and she will be the reason you meet your end.”

Murphy doesn’t say anything at all to that. He doesn’t know why Jaha doesn’t capture him yet again and tie him back to the chair, but he suspects that now that he has Raven tenuously on his side and her powers, whatever they are, have been unleashed - he doesn’t need Murphy, not anymore. “I’ll be back for you,” he promises Raven, an echo of what he told her the first time he’d left her in this bunker, though the words are infinitely more hollow the second time around. 

“Don’t,” Raven whispers in response, though Murphy turns and quickly ascends the staircase himself, choosing to ignore this last request. After all, he has no intention of honouring it. 

He follows Emori out of the bunker and back into the forest as the moon begins to sink down towards the horizon above them. The sun is just starting to reclaim its territory, casting a morning glow on the body of Charmaine Diyoza that lays in the grass just before the trees, a bullet buried deep in her brain that she received simply for trying to do right by her daughter. 

They make it to the boat with no further trouble, though Murphy suspects this is because they’re being allowed to leave. If Jaha wanted them to stay, he could have stopped them many, many times over. 

The boat roars to life and moves away from the beach. Emori’s behind the wheel, doing all the work that he doesn’t understand, and only as they’re well into the waters of Sanctum and sailing towards the rising sun does she allow herself to cry. 

* * *

The adrenaline fades right as they dock back into Sanctum’s harbour. With Arkadia island being so close to the coast, the ride back hadn’t taken long at all. Now, the pain in his shoulder from being grazed by the bullet is starting to roar in protest, and his head never really stopped hurting. Murphy figures he’s lost far more blood than he had thought before, which would explain why his vision swims so intensely after he stands to get off the boat. 

Just as he blinks the stars from his very tired eyes, he looks over and sees a distinctive police car pulling up to the street just beyond the harbour. “I called Bellamy,” Emori says, answering his unasked question. 

“You did?” he asks, glancing over at her. Her eyes are rimmed red and she looks just as exhausted as he feels, though he suspects it’s for very different reasons. He wants to help her, but he isn’t sure what to say to someone who just had their wife gain super strength and throw them into a wall because they wanted to stay with the cult leader priest rather than go home with them. Murphy knows why Raven did all this, of course, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Emori. 

“I thought you might want him here,” she replies, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. 

The last time he’d spoken to Bellamy, they’d been fighting, and Murphy hadn’t believed in his story about the Troubles. Now, only a day or two later, he believes that he himself  _ is  _ one of the Troubled. A lot, safe to say, has changed. “I do,” he says, softly. “Thank you.”

Slowly, the two of them climb down from the boat. The solid ground of the dock feels good beneath his feet, though as he takes a step, the pounding in his head only grows. Still - he pushes it aside. He has to tell Bellamy what happened, so that they can figure out the best way to stop it. 

He blinks, and time seems to speed up, because suddenly Bellamy’s on the dock and he’s racing towards them. With a silly smile on his face, Murphy’s chest flutters upon seeing him, and he decides that Bellamy’s never looked so good. “Hi,” is all he manages to say as Bellamy gets within earshot. 

“Holy shit, Murphy,” he says, coming to a stop and looking him up and down. “You look - what the hell happened to you?”

He realizes, then, how truly awful and disheveled he must look, but - now is not the time. There’s something else he has to ask that feels far more important than anything else at the moment. “What book was it?”

“I - what?”

“The book,” he repeats, blinking harshly to try and get the pounding in his head to clear up, but it only grows in strength. “That you were reading, on the street, when I pushed you out of the way of the car.”

It takes a second, but then recognition dawns on Bellamy’s face. “Romeo and Juliet,” he says, “but, Murphy, I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

_ Romeo and Juliet.  _ From all he knows about Bellamy, that makes perfect sense, and now he’s not sure why he even wondered about the answer. Of course it was a Shakespeare classic - what else could it have been? “Great,” he says, “thank you.”

Bellamy still looks confused, but then his eyes widen and he’s moving forwards, because - well, Murphy’s not sure why. He only knows that he’s fallen over something. He must have, because now he’s been quite literally swept off his feet, Bellamy’s arms the only thing keeping him somewhat upright. He smiles at this, eyes closing to block out the morning sun that’s suddenly far harsher than it was before. 

“Dramatic,” he hears Emori mutter, and then he’s lost to the world entirely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things got a (little) real in this chapter so i hope you liked the direction it went and where it's going and all that! since this is chapter six, that also means we're a third of the way through this fic, which feels like it happened much too soon. so wow! thank you for all the lovely comments and support, i deeply appreciate it.


	7. some time ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If it dissolves now  
> Into dust, that only means its time had come  
> Some time ago, but look now, and listen:  
> It may be that another life is stocked there  
> In recesses no one knew of; that it,  
> Not we, are the change."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings for mentions of suicide**

_ Murphy dreams of himself.  _

_ At least, he thinks this must be a dream, but he’s never experienced one like this before. It’s as if he’s walking on air. When he looks around himself, there’s nothing there at all. He’s completely alone, in a place where nothing else exists, and he doubts anything else ever has existed.  _

_ Until, he looks up, and sees a mirror. It’s got to be a mirror, a mirror in a dream, because he’s looking at a perfect reflection of himself that he feels no connection to. It’s him, that’s for sure - it’s an identical image of himself, but when Murphy raises a hand, the reflection does no such thing.  _

_ Murphy waves, and the reflection does nothing in response. “What is this?” he says, gesturing around to the empty space they’re in.  _

_ The reflection looks somewhat sad at his works, finally raising a hand and placing it on the glass. It bends slightly at the touch and the picture of the reflection grows dimmer. Murphy realizes that it’s not a mirror, not at all - he’s looking at a man in a cage.  _

_ “What did you do?” he asks, coming closer. “Who put you here?” _

_ Silence. He wonders if he’d even be able to hear him through the glass walls if he spoke.  _

_ Murphy raises his own hand once more, placing it on the surface of the glass - yet, when he makes contact with it, it crumbles. The glass begins to fade away and his hand moves further and further through it until it’s all the way on the other side.  _

_ The reflection looks at his hand for a second or two, studying it with a puzzled expression, and then grabs his wrist with his own hand. “This will be mine again,” the reflection says, voice low, “one day.” _

_ “What does that mean?” Murphy asks, but with his hand trapped on the other side of the cage, he’s scared. It’s not a reflection he’s looking at, it can’t be. The other man looks exactly like him, that might be true, but he doesn’t act like him in the slightest.  _

_ Across from him, the other man grins wickedly. The pressure on Murphy’s wrist increases for a moment. He blinks, and then - it’s gone. His hand is his own again, but when he looks up once more, he’s the one standing in the cage.  _

_ The other man, now free to leave, gives him a wave and starts to walk away. “Wait!” Murphy calls, racing forwards only to find a glass wall in his way. He bangs on it with all his might, trying to shatter the barrier, but it only grows harder until he can’t see through it at all. Walls form all around him and move towards his body, trapping him inside a cage that he can’t even move in.  _

_ He can’t see much, but through the barrier he can see two bright eyes looking back at him. The reflection stares at him from his newfound freedom, and the longer he stares and Murphy remains trapped, it becomes more clear that somehow, Murphy’s become no more than a reflection himself. The pressure from the cage walls increases and he can’t move, can’t even think. It feels as if he doesn’t truly exist at all.  _

_ From somewhere outside, the other man begins to laugh. The most haunting thing about it all is that it sounds exactly like Murphy’s own.  _

* * *

Murphy wakes with a slight gasp, coming back to himself all too suddenly. With the dream still fresh in his mind, he has to hold out his hand and stretch it a few times in front of him to check that he’s real, and he’s fine, and he’s very much awake. It had only been a dream, he knows that, but it had felt different than usual. It had felt real, so much so that if he thinks about it, he can still feel the walls all around him and the reflection laughing at him through the glass. 

He sighs, shaking his head clear of the memory. There’s more important things to worry about right now, like figuring out where exactly he is. He remembers fainting on the docks, as embarrassing as that is, but as he looks around Murphy’s fairly confident he’s now somewhere he’s never been. 

As his vision focuses and the haze in his mind finally falls away, he realizes he’s in someone’s bedroom. He doesn’t remember getting here, but someone has placed him in the bed and gently wrapped a blanket around him. The room itself is fairly minimal and small, nothing more than the bed, a closet, and a wooden nightstand on his left. A faint smell of fruit wafts through the air, and a few rays of sun illuminate the room from a half-open window on his right. 

On the nightstand, there’s a framed photograph of a young girl in a park. She looks familiar, but Murphy doesn’t think he recognizes her so he moves past it. Next to the photograph is a stack of two books -  _ The Iliad  _ and  _ The Odyssey,  _ as if one of them wasn’t enough - and a small mug with a sticky note pinned to it. The note simply reads  _ from Bellamy,  _ with a drawn smiley face next to the name. 

Slowly, Murphy sits up against the headboard, feeling his stiff joints return to life. He picks up the mug with both hands, the last bits of warmth moving from the cup and into his hands. It’s peach tea, he realizes, the very reason for the fruity scent in the air. It’s also been here for a while, so it’s more lukewarm than anything else, but the gesture is enough to cause his heart to skip a beat. 

He’s in Bellamy’s room. He’s in Bellamy’s room, holding a cup of tea made just for him, only a couple of days after yelling at him and telling him he didn’t believe him when Bellamy had bared his soul and shared his truth. The guilt hits him ten times harder than before now that he realizes, despite all that, Bellamy’s still willing to go to such lengths for him. 

There’s a gentle knock at the door before it slowly opens, distracting Murphy from his own thoughts. Bellamy himself stands in the doorframe, a shine in his eyes that seems to grow when he sees Murphy’s awake. “Hey,” he says, quietly, his silhouette framed by the afternoon sun. 

Murphy hums. “Hi,” he replies, and then with one hand he gestures to the room. “So, this is nice.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought you here,” Bellamy says, coming closer and sitting at the other end of the bed, as if he’s afraid of invading Murphy’s space even though this is his room. 

“Well, it  _ is  _ pretty forward. You haven’t even taken me to dinner yet,” he says, joking, but then he remembers that he and Bellamy might not be in joking territory at the moment.  _ He’s done a nice thing for you, and you’re ruining it,  _ he thinks, growing angry at himself. 

Bellamy, though, smiles softly at this. “Next time,” he promises, and then, “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Emori told me some of what happened.”

He sighs, tightening his grip around the mug unconsciously. The image of Charmaine Diyoza’s dead body fills his mind, and he has a feeling it’s not going to be something he’s ever going to forget. “Is Emori alright?” he asks, even though he knows that she’s far from it. 

“No,” Bellamy replies, “but she left almost as soon as she got here. I told her she could stay with me and you since - well, I didn’t want her to have to go to the boat alone, but she slipped out, so.”

“She isn’t trying to go back to that island, is she?”

“Her boat is still here,” he assures him, “but that’s all I know. I told Miller to try and watch out for her, but if she doesn’t want company, we can’t force her.”

It takes Murphy a second to remember who Miller is, but he recalls briefly meeting the cop who worked with Bellamy. “Is Miller Troubled?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure the answer is going to be yes, since that would explain the odd conversation they’d had when he’d met him. 

Bellamy nods in confirmation. “Yeah - he’s a bullet magnet, literally. Any shot fired that’s close enough to him redirects itself until it hits him.”

“Shit,” Murphy mutters, thinking about the implications of a Trouble like this. “That’s - and he’s a cop?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried to have that conversation with him before,” he replies, “but it’s hard to convince him to change professions when the Troubles only come around every 22 years.”

Murphy sighs, slowly setting the mug back down on the nightstand. He can’t argue with that point, and he thinks that if he were in that same situation, he’d feel the same. A moment of silence passes between them, where Bellamy adjusts his position and looks towards the floor, like there’s a thousand things he wants to say but he doesn’t think now is the right time. Yet - he shouldn’t be the one who has to speak at all. It’s Murphy’s fault that things went wrong between them so quickly, and though he doesn’t want to go into it, he knows that he has to. 

“I’m sorry, Bellamy,” he says. 

He doesn’t miss how Bellamy’s gaze immediately snaps up to meet his own, surprise evident in it. “You don’t have to be,” he replies quickly. 

“No, I do,” Murphy insists. “I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you, before, and that I was so rude to you. It wasn’t fair of me to react like that.”

Bellamy bites his lip, deep in thought. “You know, when the boat was reported missing from the docks and so were you, I thought you’d skipped town with it. I thought you were trying to get away from me, and I never even thought otherwise. I thought that I had been wrong about you, so I’m sorry for that, too.”

“You don’t have to be,” Murphy says, repeating his own words back to him. “I didn’t exactly do anything to make you think otherwise, right?” 

He shrugs. “Still - I should have known there was something more to it.”

“Oh, there’s a lot more to it,” Murphy agrees, “but, for what it’s worth - I believe you now.”

Bellamy chuckles, but by the look on his face it’s clear he appreciates the sentiment. “Yeah, I would hope you do now,” he says after a moment. 

“It’s pretty hard not to,” Murphy concedes, “especially since I think that  _ I’m  _ Troubled, too.”

“You do?” 

“Yeah, I think so, anyways,” he says with a sigh, and then he takes note of how concerned Bellamy looks, and a feeling of bravery surges in his chest. “I mean - you can come closer, and we can find out for sure.”

Bellamy blinks, letting out a small laugh, but then he nods in an acceptance of Murphy’s challenge. He shifts closer so that he’s sitting right in front of Murphy on the bed, and swiftly, Murphy reaches out and takes his hand in his own. The instant their skin touches Bellamy lets out a breath of surprise, clearly still not used to the feeling of having one of his senses returned to him like that. 

“So,” Murphy says, “do you feel that?”

“I feel that,” Bellamy replies, still breathless. 

He hums in response. “Looks like I’m still Troubled, then.”

Bellamy smiles, and then he slowly moves his eyes away from their joined hands and to Murphy’s own gaze, an electric charge passing between them. It’s as though he’s grown braver, inspired by Murphy’s own courage. “I’m still not convinced,” he says, softly, leaning forwards until they’re only inches apart. 

“No?” Murphy whispers. 

“No,” Bellamy says, raising a hand to cup Murphy’s cheek before he leans forwards and meets him in a gentle kiss. Murphy’s not the one with a lost sense of touch, but even he can admit he’s never felt anything like this before. His heart flutters and when Bellamy slowly pulls away, he’s smiling. “Okay - now I’m convinced.”

Murphy laughs. “I’m glad I could help you out.”

Bellamy hums, leaning back slightly. “I just - I’m glad you’re okay,” he says. “When Emori told me what she knew about what happened, I could barely believe it.”

He sighs, nodding. “I experienced it, and I can barely believe it either.”

“You don’t have to,” Bellamy replies, “but - what happened to you out there, Murphy? What did they want with you?”

_ That’s a good question,  _ he thinks, because he still doesn’t really understand that himself. Still, he tightens his resolve and proceeds to tell Bellamy everything he knows. He tells him about Jaha, and how he called him the devil, and how he wanted to keep him there in that bunker until he ended the Troubles. He told him about Charmaine, and how she helped him escape, and then how he and Emori ended up going back to get Raven out of there - only to see her turn into something else when they tried. 

“Jaha had been so set on keeping me there, but as soon as he had Raven stay with him, he just let me go,” Murphy finishes his explanation by saying. “It doesn’t make sense. Why do all that work to capture me, only to let me escape?”

Bellamy’s brow is furrowed as he takes all this information in. “There’s no way to tell for sure, but we can assume your Trouble is being immune to other Troubles, right?”

“I guess so,” Murphy says, nodding in agreement. 

“Maybe that’s what Jaha wanted,” Bellamy suggests. “Maybe he knew your father when he was here, and he knew that was what his Trouble was, and he wants to - I don’t know, take that ability for himself and the rest of his group? It doesn’t make sense, but from what you’ve said, it sounds like Jaha’s gone off the deep end, so.”

The theory makes enough sense, but there’s something about this whole situation with the photograph that’s been bothering him. If it’s true that the Troubles come around every twenty-two years, and the photograph with his father was from the last time they were here in Sanctum, then the photograph itself is twenty-two years old - except Murphy’s older than twenty-two. Only by a few years, sure, but that means he was alive at that point, so if his father was in Sanctum, did he even know he had a child? Did he know, and simply not care? Or - is that even his father at all? 

It’s all speculation, and none of it is worth bothering Bellamy with, though, so he doesn’t voice any of it. “Maybe,” he agrees, “but honestly, I’m more worried about Raven and what her abilities mean.”

“We all thought Raven wasn’t Troubled,” Bellamy says, “so I really don’t know. I’d track down her mother, but she died a long time ago.”

“Apparently Jaha told her that she ‘inherited’ something from her mother,” Murphy recalls, “so maybe her mother  _ was  _ Troubled, and she just never told anyone.”

Bellamy nods, unable to dispute this theory. “The last time the Troubles were here, we were all pretty young,” he says, “so that’s possible that Raven just never had hers manifest, depending on what it is. But if she’s truly on Jaha’s side, and he’s planning to use her as a weapon, which is what it sounds like, then we have to be careful.”

“She’s still Raven. I don’t think she’s entirely on his side.”

“I know,” Bellamy says, softly, “but if the Troubled are being hunted, then we have to do everything in our power to stop it.”

Murphy pauses, thinking everything over. “It sounds to me,” he says, “like Sanctum is on the brink of a civil war, and both sides aren’t above killing the other.”

“Sanctum’s always been on the brink,” Bellamy agrees, “it just looks like this time around, there’s someone ready to lead the charge.”

He takes a second to think about this, and the town in general, and how he’d never felt a connection to a place like he had before he got here. Sanctum, even though it had treated him horribly, feels like a home to him, more than anywhere else ever has. He belongs here, and, well - there’s more than just the town itself that’s worth fighting for. “The island is too dangerous for any Troubled person to go back to, but the Disciples aren’t going to stay there forever. We need to figure out their plan, and we need to stop them from doing any more damage than they’ve already done.”

Bellamy nods, standing from the bed and holding out a hand. “Are you with me?” he asks, a small smile on his face. 

Murphy rolls his eyes at the cliche gesture, but he still takes the hand offered to him and allows Bellamy to pull him up and out of the bed to a standing position. “I’m with you,” he says, and he means it. 

* * *

He hadn’t known where Bellamy was planning on taking him, but he definitely had not guessed the veterinarian’s office. “Really?” he asks as they stand outside the doors to the building, his hands deep in his pockets to stave off the cold winds racing through town. 

“Really,” Bellamy says, opening up the door and holding it for him to enter first. “You’ll see why.”

Murphy’s skeptical, but he walks inside anyway. A soft bell chime rings out as the door slides shut behind them, but nobody is in the office, and nobody comes out to meet them. Though he scans the room, he can’t see anything out of the ordinary. It looks, to him, like a regular veterinarian office. “Do you have a dog I don’t know about, or?” he asks Bellamy, trailing off as he waits for an explanation. 

It’s Bellamy’s turn to roll his eyes, but he walks through the front of the office and to a door on the opposing wall that, curiously, has no sign on it. Gently, Bellamy knocks on the door three times, the lock clicking off it moments later. He gestures for Murphy to follow him as he opens the door and enters the back room, and with a slight shrug, Murphy walks in behind him. 

They’ve walked into a small examination room, but there’s no animal on the table. No, instead the room is almost full with people. Jackson and Miller are standing on one side, Miller’s arms wrapped around Jackson’s shoulders in a comforting gesture. Clarke and Lexa are there as well, and so are Jasper and Monty, each couple standing close together. Murphy’s not particularly close to any of them, not at this point, but he can’t help but feel Raven and Emori’s absence. 

Clarke’s clearly thinking along the same lines. “Raven and Emori aren’t coming, are they?”

“No,” Bellamy says, “they’re not.” 

The group share some uneasy glances. “I thought you called all of us here, Bellamy,” Monty says. “We shouldn’t be here without them, it’s not right.”

“They aren’t coming,” Bellamy repeats, “and I called you all here to tell you why.” He looks towards Murphy, then, but he’s not on the same page. 

“I don’t understand,” Murphy says. “What is this?”

He bites his lip, looking around the room, as if waiting for someone to object to him saying more. When nobody does, Bellamy continues. “There’s another reason I wanted you to meet these people specifically when you got here. They - well, honestly, I trust everyone in this room with my life. We’re all Troubled - save for Raven, or so we thought - and we all grew up together. We promised each other, when the Troubles came around, we’d meet often and help each other through them the best we could. Jackson’s office proved to be the best place to do that.”

It’s more sentimental than anything he’s used to, but Murphy nods. “So, what - it’s the Troubled inner circle?”

The rest of them look unimpressed at this remark, but Lexa laughs. “No,” she admits, “we’ve just known each other for years and years, and we want to do the right thing is all - but I like that name.”

Clarke smiles at her wife, but when she looks back at Bellamy her brow is furrowed. “You said ‘or so we thought,’ when you said Raven wasn’t Troubled. What’s going on here, Bellamy?”

He looks back at Murphy in response. “They need to know what you told me,” he says. “You can trust them. I promise.”

Murphy had thought he could trust Raven, too, but it’s not his place to make judgements like that. He trusts Bellamy, and if Bellamy trusts everyone in this room, then he can, too. With a nod, he repeats what he explained before, and relays the story of what happened to him, to Raven and Emori, and how the Disciples wanted to get rid of all the Troubled people. 

As he finishes his story, he watches how everyone glances over at Monty, as if waiting for him to double over in pain and reveal that he’s been lying, but he never does, proving Murphy’s words to be true. 

“Jaha wants us all dead?” Jasper says, eyes wide. He reaches out and takes Monty’s hand in his own for comfort. Murphy remembers that his Trouble makes him see how everyone dies when he touches their skin, yet here he is, clasping Monty’s hand like it doesn’t bother him. He must have already seen how his husband would die. The thought of that sends shivers down Murphy’s spine. 

Bellamy nods, sighing. “Jaha wants us all dead,” he repeats, “and somehow, Raven can help him do that.”

“We need to know more,” Clarke says. Her eyes are full of determination, and though everyone seems scared, it’s as though the fear is driving her motivation. “I’m guessing the Disciples don’t want to associate with anyone Troubled, but do we know of anyone who might be with them? Or who might know anything about them?”

Lexa glances at Bellamy before she speaks up. “Echo might.”

“She’s Troubled, too,” Bellamy replies, quickly shutting that down. Murphy remembers how cold Echo had been to him when they’d briefly met at the newspaper’s office, days ago, and though nobody has said it, he gets the sense that she and Bellamy used to be together. 

“Yeah, and even so, she keeps to herself during the Troubles,” Jasper agrees. “She wouldn’t talk to us.”

Miller sighs. “It sounds like the Disciples are keeping themselves hidden,” he says, “so even if we could guess who might be a part of them, they wouldn’t willingly reveal themselves.”

“Maybe we could talk to the tattoo parlour?” Clarke suggests. “I get the sense it wouldn’t be an easy conversation, but maybe they would be able to tell us something about the tattoo every Disciple seems to have, or who is giving it to them.”

“Seems like a bad move to brand every member of a secret cult,” Lexa mutters, and honestly, Murphy agrees. The purpose of the tattoo remains a mystery to him. It seems to go against all of Jaha’s plans, to reveal who is and isn’t a part of his group in that way. 

The group falls silent for a moment, trying to figure out the best course of action, when Jackson breaks the silence by clearing his throat. “We could try - well, we could try my Trouble.”

“No,” Miller says, tightening his grip on Jackson’s shoulder protectively. “Not a chance.”

Murphy glances over at Bellamy, speaking under his breath. “What’s his Trouble?”

“He manifests ghosts,” is the response, and though this should freak Murphy out, nothing fazes him anymore. Sure, ghosts are real - why not? 

“Let me rephrase,” Jackson says, and Murphy realizes that this whole time, he’s been staring at a space between Monty and Lexa, where nobody is standing. “You all remember Finn Collins, the body that was found on the boat? Who had the tattoo?”

Clarke’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it was a suicide.”

“Jaha confirmed that,” Murphy chimes in. “He said Finn sacrificed himself, and they put the body there so that I would investigate it.”

Jackson nods, slowly. “Yeah - he’s here, right now.”

The group pales, both Monty and Lexa moving away from the space that Jackson’s staring at. “What does he want?” Bellamy says, the only one in the room to move slightly closer. His foolish bravery is going to be the death of him one day, Murphy thinks. 

“I don’t think he wants anything,” Jackson says, “but - if I let him possess me, then maybe he can-”

“No,” Miller snaps, cutting him off. “It’s bad enough one of them is here. We’re not considering that.”

“Hold on - these ghosts, they can possess you?” Murphy asks, genuinely curious. 

Jackson sighs, tearing his eyes away from the invisible spectre for a moment. “Yeah. I can see ghosts, all the time, without prompting, but they can’t speak - I just see them there. But if I let them, they can possess me for a few minutes, and talk to the living.”

“It doesn’t matter, though, because we’re not doing it,” Miller says again. “Sure, it was only a few minutes when it happened before - but you were a kid then, Jacks. Who says it won’t be different now? What if he doesn’t leave, and you’re gone forever?”

“He won’t do that,” Jackson says, though it’s clear he knows as well as any of them that he can’t promise that. “But this is our best and only chance to ask one of the Disciples about the group and what they’re planning. We need to talk to him.”

“Plus, it’s Finn,” Clarke says, softly. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, Jackson, but - we know him. He went to school with us.”

Murphy hadn’t known that, but by the softness in Bellamy’s eyes it’s clear that he, too, knew him to some extent. “Exactly,” Jackson agrees. “It’ll be fine. I’ll come back, okay?”

Miller looks like he wants to argue this further, but he can’t fight against the points that have been brought up already. “Okay,” he says, sighing. “Just - be careful, okay?”

“Of course,” Jackson says, looking back over at the empty space that apparently, Finn is taking up. The room falls silent and so does he, all of them waiting for something to happen. Several seconds go by, in which Murphy muses how hilarious it is that, in the last few days, he’s become so well acquainted with the supernatural that he hadn’t even batted an eye when ghosts were casually revealed to be real. 

Suddenly, Jackon tenses, taking in a sharp breath as he looks towards the ground. Miller removes his hand from his shoulder, taking a step away, though it’s clear it pains him to do so. After several more beats of silence pass, Jackson seems to relax, and he looks up, but - he’s different, now. Nothing looks like it’s changed, but he carries himself differently, slouching over more than before, and he wears an easy grin on his face that wasn’t there before. 

“Finn?” Clarke asks, quietly. 

“Hey, princess,” Jackson says, his voice low and smooth. It’s not Jackson speaking, this much is clear - for all intent and purposes, Finn is the one in the room with them. Murphy notices, too, that Lexa scowls upon the nickname being said, guessing that clearly, there’s history here that he isn’t privy to. 

Bellamy clears his throat, no doubt wanting to change topics. Jackson had said that this would only last for a few minutes, so time is of the essence. “Look, I’m sorry to do this to you, Finn,” he says, “but we need to know about the Disciples, and anything you tell us would be helpful.”

Jackson’s - no,  _ Finn’s  _ \- eyes grow sad as the words are spoken. “I thought I was doing a good thing,” he says, and it genuinely seems like he’s regretful for having joined the group. “The non-Troubled need protection, you know? They do. But I didn’t realize that it was at the expense of the Troubled.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke says, softly. “We know you didn’t hurt anybody.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says, “and I didn’t want to, either. When Jaha found out - he killed me.”

Murphy blinks, surprised. “He killed you?” he repeats. “He said that you sacrificed yourself.”

Finn shakes his head. “No - I opposed his plans openly. I didn’t want anybody to die. When Jaha found that out, well, I’m pretty sure he poisoned me somehow. I don’t remember most of it, but he invited me to a ‘strategy meeting’ where he gave me a glass of wine. After drinking it - I don’t remember anything else, so I must have died.”

“He made it look like a suicide,” Lexa says. 

“It wasn’t,” Finn says, “it wasn’t. You have to - can you please make sure my mom knows that? Just tell her that I didn’t - I didn’t want to die?”

Clarke nods, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ll tell her. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Finn whispers, and then Jackson’s body shakes once, as if signalling they don’t have much time left. 

“Is there anything else you know that might help us save the Troubled?” Bellamy asks, pressing to work against the clock. 

Finn lets out a breath. “The graveyard,” he says. “Behind the church. That’s where we met, most of the time. That, and Arkadia island. I’m sorry, I don’t know most of Jaha’s plans - he made sure to keep them to himself. I only found out he was willing to kill the Troubled, and he killed me as a result.”

“The graveyard,” Bellamy repeats, nodding. “No, that’s helpful - thank you. We’ll check it out.”

“Please tell my mom,” Finn says, looking at Clarke, clearly losing his hold on reality. “I don’t want her to think I left her on purpose. Please tell her I didn’t want to die.”

“I will,” Clarke says, again. 

“Please, you have to tell her.”

Lexa puts a hand on her arm as Clarke nods yet again. “I will, Finn. I’m going to.”

“Okay,” Finn says, as if this will allow him to rest easy. “Okay - okay, thank you.” With that, Jackson’s body shakes one more time and he stumbles, coming back to himself as Miller rushes over to support him. 

“Are you okay?” Miller whispers, softly. 

Jackson nods, straightening. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “He’s not in the room, anymore.”

Once they’re all sure that Jackson is indeed himself again and alright, Bellamy glances over at Monty, once again ensuring nobody has told a lie. “The graveyard, then,” he says. “That’s our lead. What do you say we go there and see what we can find out?”

Murphy nods, knowing that no matter what, he’ll follow Bellamy anywhere through this town. “I’ll come, too,” Lexa says. 

“I have to go see Finn’s mom,” Clarke whispers, wiping the last tears from her eyes, “but I’ll meet you there later, okay?” Lexa kisses her forehead softly in response, an assurance that it was alright. 

Jasper and Monty exchange a glance. “We’re going to try to find Emori,” Monty says. “She could use our help and support, and she shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Miller’s still got a hold of Jackson, his grip so tight it’s as if he’s worried he’ll disappear right in his hands. “We’ll stay here,” he says, looking towards the group when Jackson doesn’t fight him on this decision. It’s clear that the possession exhausted him, even if he won’t admit it. “Call if you need anything, alright?”

Bellamy nods, smiling at Murphy and Lexa. “Alright, then,” he says. “To the graveyard we go.”

Clarke leaves the room first, followed by Miller and Jackson, no doubt going to a more spacious and comfortable part of the office. He’s about to leave himself when Jasper calls out, “Murphy, can you wait a second?”

He nods, hanging back, and gesturing to Bellamy that he’ll join him in a moment. “What’s up?” he asks Jasper, when the two of them are alone in the room. 

Jasper looks uneasy, yet determined as he speaks. “You know what my Trouble is, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “you can see how people are going to die when you touch them.”

“Well, everyone except you,” Jasper replies, “but yes. I can. And I - I saw Monty’s death.”

His suspicions from before, then, are true. “Okay,” Murphy says, slowly, a chill moving up his spine. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

Jasper nods, crossing his arms in front of him, very clearly uncomfortable. His expression is deeply pained. “It’s going to happen soon,” he says, his voice low, threatening to give out at any second. 

Murphy’s not sure how to properly proceed. He blinks, several times, trying to pull himself together at this thought. “I hate to ask,” he says, slowly, “but, are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jasper whispers, looking down and furrowing his brow even more. It’s not new information to him, clearly, but he looks frustrated more than anything - perhaps at the lack of power he’s been given in this situation. “Before the Troubles go away this time, and I think Jaha’s going to kill him.”

He lets out a breath. “Have you ever been wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Jasper says. “Not that I know of - but I need to be wrong this time. I need to be, okay? And I need your help.”

“Of course,” Murphy says, though he isn’t sure what he’s agreeing to do. He only knows that, if it’s within his power, he’ll do anything to make sure both of them stay alive. “What can I do?”

“You’re immune to the Troubles,” Jasper says, “and clearly, Jaha wanted something from you that relates to that. I just - if you can stop him, I need you to do it. I need someone to help me do whatever it takes to ensure Monty makes it out of all this alive, okay?”

Murphy nods. “Of course, man.”

The relief in Jasper’s eyes is palpable, and suddenly he’s throwing himself forwards, wrapping Murphy in a tight embrace. “I just needed someone to know,” he says next to Murphy’s ear, clearly close to tears now. 

“I understand,” Murphy says, hugging him back just as tightly, “and I’m with you. I’ll help you, whatever it takes.”

“Thank you,” Jasper says, pulling away after a moment and wiping his eyes. “I - you’re a good guy, Murphy, you know that?”

He smiles, softly. “You’re far better than I, Jasper,” he replies, “but thank you.” With that, Jasper gestures for him to leave, and he does, knowing that the other man needs a moment alone. He can’t imagine having that piece of information and not being able to tell anybody else, in case the knowledge of his death is what ends up killing Monty in the end. It’s an impossible situation, and he feels intense sympathy - and a reinforced determination to save all of the Troubled. 

“You ready to go?” Bellamy asks, once he’s walked out of the back office. Lexa’s leaning against a wall, as she’s prone to do, but she stands up straight to join them. 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Murphy says, the three of them walking out of the veterinarian’s office and into Sanctum’s streets. As he breathes in the cold air, Murphy knows with a certainty he’s never had that he’ll do anything for this town and its people, and if it came down to it, he’d give anything to make sure they all stayed safe. 

He watches Bellamy, for a moment, the early evening sun illuminating his figure. Sanctum’s given him a home, he knows, in more ways than one. “I’m with you,” he whispers, repeating what he’d said earlier. 

It didn’t matter that Bellamy doesn’t hear him. He knows it’s true, and that’s enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this was a bit of a more fluff/conversationalist chapter than the last one and is usual for this fic, but a little reprieve sounded nice...especially given what's in store next chapter.....hehe
> 
> thanks for reading!! i hope you liked it.


	8. a weary time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There passed a weary time. Each throat  
> Was parched, and glazed each eye.  
> A weary time! a weary time!  
> How glazed each weary eye."

Bellamy seems content with leading the way, so Murphy lets him walk a little ways ahead as they move through Sanctum’s streets on their way to the church graveyard. Admittedly, Murphy spends far too long staring at his back, taking in every detail of his form. His shoulders are tensed and he’s walking with clear anxiety in every step. It’s clear that he’s worried about his friends and the town as a whole, and for a long while, Murphy debates saying something to him to try and calm him, but he has no idea what words would work. Truly, he doesn’t know Bellamy well enough to make that call. Sure, he wants to know more, but the walk to the potential headquarters of a murderous cult is not the place to initiate that conversation, either. 

So, he hangs back and walks in silence, until Lexa steps into pace next to him. “Hey,” she says, glancing over at him for a moment. 

“Hi,” he returns, offering a small smile. He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Lexa one-on-one like this, not since his first day in Sanctum when he met her in the medical examiner’s office, so he doesn’t know her all that well, either. 

“So, Bellamy really likes you, huh?” She doesn’t hesitate for even a moment before she says it. 

Murphy has to take a second to compose himself, not prepared for the question in the slightest. He appreciates Lexa’s apparent upfrontness, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to respond to. “You think so?” he says, but immediately after, he wishes he had thought of a better retort so that he could seem just a little more cool than that. 

“Oh, it’s obvious,” she replies, once again not missing a beat. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but he’s a pretty private person. The Troubles, this town, it’s taken a lot from him.”

“Has it?” he asks, softly, eyes returning to stare at the tension in Bellamy’s shoulders. 

Lexa purses her lips for a moment, nodding silently. “That’s for him to say,” she says, “but he’s clearly opened up to you, at least somewhat. That says a lot. Trust me on that.”

He nods, unable to hide his smile. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I think you and Clarke are great together. I know I haven’t been here all that long, but it’s pretty clear to me, so.”

Lexa positively beams, ducking her head as a slight blush spreads across her cheeks. “Thank you,” she replies. As she speaks, the cold air rushing through the streets seems to immediately vanish, replacing itself with warm rays of sun shining down on them from the sky. At first Murphy thinks he’s making that up, but when he looks up at the sky, the sun is in fact ten times brighter than it was before. He shields his eyes, slowing his pace to marvel at the sudden change. 

Vaguely, he remembers Bellamy saying something about Lexa’s Trouble being connected to the weather, but he can’t recall the details. “Is this you?” he asks, gesturing up at the sky that, just above them, is turning a brilliant blue. 

She glances up, the smile slowly slipping off her face. Her shoulders roll back and she shakes her head as if to clear it. As she does so, the sunlight begins to fade, and the familiar fog of Sanctum slowly drifts back down the street. “Sorry,” she mutters once the temperature drops and the blue sky fades away. “I’m normally better at that.”

He shrugs, truthfully finding the whole thing pretty cool to experience. Only Bellamy seems not to have noticed anything, his own Trouble keeping him from noticing the temperature change. “How does it work?” he asks her, unable to keep his curiosity at bay. 

Lexa sighs. “As far as I know, my emotions affect the weather,” she explains. “It’s warm when I’m happy, it rains when I’m sad, and it snows when I’m stressed. The whole universe is just one giant mood ring for me.”

Murphy’s unable to keep his laughter contained at that remark. When he recovers his composure, however, he begins to realize the implications of such an ability. “Six months of controlling your emotions,” he says. “That can’t be easy.”

She shrugs, though she nods in agreement. “My family’s Trouble is well known, since it affects the whole town so much. I’m sure I’ll be getting lots of people trying to elicit emotions out of me to make the weather go a certain way.”

“Really? People would do that to you?”

“Oh, sure,” she says, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. “I don’t really care, though. Nobody dies with my Trouble - at the very worst, I make it snow inside or something. There are so many people who have it worse than I do.”

“Maybe,” he says, “but still - six months is a long time.”

Lexa lets out a breath. “A lot of us have manageable Troubles,” she continues on, “but just as many don’t. Echo, for instance. Her thing is…I would take mine for the rest of my life rather than deal with hers.”

_ Echo.  _ Her name has come up a fair amount during his time in Sanctum, but despite that, he hardly knows anything about her. She and Bellamy were together at some point in the past, he’s gathered that much, and in their brief meeting at the newspaper’s office days ago she’d clearly expressed her dislike of him. He knew that she went to the church here, and she knew Jaha through that, but aside from that, he didn’t even know what her Trouble was. “What can she do?”

Lexa glances over at him, surprise evident in her eyes for a moment. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Oh, I just assumed - sorry, then. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Not really my place to discuss other people’s Troubles, and all that.”

Murphy’s curiosity doesn’t die down. “We all agreed earlier she might have a connection to Jaha, since they know each other,” he says. “If she can do something that helps them, then it’s better I know.”

She bites her lip for a moment, but then concedes to his point. “Alright, fine - she can bring people back to life.”

“Wait,  _ what?” _

“Yeah, there’s a bunch of rules about it, like it can only be one person a day and it has to be before the sun goes down, but essentially, that’s what she can do. Her whole family died because of it. I heard she’s locked herself in her house and doesn’t plan on coming out until the Troubles go away.”

Murphy blinks, stunned. “I know the Troubles do the unexplainable,” he says, “but I really didn’t think something like  _ that  _ was possible.”

“There’s hundreds of Troubles, and each of them defy explanation,” she says, scoffing quietly. “It’s all part of living in Sanctum. You sure you want to stick around now?”

She’s teasing him in an attempt to lighten the conversation, that much he can tell. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he says. 

“What, nothing to go back to in the big city? Actually - where  _ are  _ you from? You just seem like a city person, so I took a guess.”

Murphy smiles at the comment, but then as he thinks about what he would be going back to - his mind draws a blank. A shot of terror drives through his heart the longer he thinks about it, and the longer he can’t remember a single thing from his life before coming to Sanctum. It’s exactly like how he felt back at the cliffs, when Bellamy had asked him for his first name and he’d come up completely empty. 

He breathes in, trying to calm himself down. He’s anxious, and overthinking, and he’s stressed about everything else that’s happening, so that’s why he can’t remember details off the top of his head, that’s all. As his heart rate slows, he takes another breath, deciding to come at this problem from an objective angle. He’s lived a whole life before this town, and he knows things - he’s just briefly confused. That’s an issue he can fix, surely. 

He knows that he’s a federal agent. He knows his boss is a man named Zev. He knows he came to Sanctum to chase a serial killer, only to get caught up in the rest of the town’s business. He knows - well, actually, now he’s coming up short. The more he thinks, the less he knows. 

Surely he had a family, or friends, at one point in time, but he can’t recall any of their names. This is going deeper than him simply not knowing who his parents are - he can’t think about who raised him, or where he grew up, or where he went to school. Zev’s image is the only one clear in his mind, but he doesn’t know anything about him, either. He can’t recall the man’s birthday, or his last name, or how long the two of them have worked together at all. 

Murphy swallows, unable to keep his hands from shaking slightly. He doesn’t know where he’s from, or if he has anything to go back to, and worst of all, he still doesn’t know his own first name. The more he dwells on this, the more he suspects it’s that, simply, he doesn’t have one. It makes him nauseous to think about it but the pieces, however haunting, do fit together. His “Trouble” is just an immunity to the Troubles themselves. He doesn’t have any real memories, or anything else that signifies him as a human being outside of all this. Maybe he’s connected to this town for the simple reason that he’s part of the Troubles himself, and six months from now he’ll simply vanish, only coming back twenty-two years from now and it will all start again. 

Maybe Jaha was right. Maybe he  _ is  _ the devil. 

“Murphy?”

Lexa’s voice shatters him from his thoughts. He realizes he never answered her question, but it’s too late for that - they’ve arrived at the church. Bellamy looks back, completely unaware of what’s been going on behind him, gesturing for the two of them to follow him through a small gate at the side of the building that no doubt leads to the graveyard in the back. 

“Hey, Lexa,” he says, past the point of caring how he’s coming off, “can I borrow your phone?” His own was somewhere on Arkadia Island, having been stolen from him when the Disciples had taken him there. 

She’s giving him a quizzical look, but then she simply shrugs and hands it over. Amidst all this, he’s confident he’s far from the oddest thing in her life. Silently, she follows Bellamy through the gate and to the graveyard, leaving him to his own devices. 

Murphy’s hands shake as he holds the phone. He tries for several seconds to calm himself down, but it isn’t working, a single thought of  _ you’re not real  _ racing through his mind over and over again. It takes him a couple tries, but eventually he manages to put in Zev’s number. He hadn’t wanted to call him before, feeling slightly betrayed that he’d supposedly known about the Troubles and sent Murphy in anyways, but he’s past the point of personal pride. Once he’s put in the number, he holds the phone up to his ear, waiting for it to ring. 

Except - it never does. There’s a brief silence, a sound on the other end of the line as if it’s glitching, and then a robotic voice regretfully tells him that  _ the number you are trying to reach is not in service.  _ “No,” he mutters, ending the call and putting the number in again, only to receive the same message yet again. 

“No!” he repeats, a sudden anger overtaking him and he nearly throws the phone onto the pavement. This isn’t right. He checks the number again, though he’s already certain he’s put in the correct one. With a haunting feeling in his chest, he thinks that maybe Zev isn’t real either. 

Murphy stands on the sidewalk in front of the church for a minute in complete silence, shivering from more than just the chill in the air. There are two possible answers as to what is going on here that he can figure out, though neither of them are all that appealing. The first is that he’s simply Troubled like he thought, and part of his Trouble is this weird memory loss. How it’s connected to the other part of his Trouble, he doesn’t know, but people in this town are capable of far weirder, that much he knows. 

Or - he’s not real, and Jaha was closer to the truth than he thought. 

He stuffs his hands and the phone deep in his pockets, raising his face to the wind. It feels cold against his skin. It feels  _ real,  _ and he feels like he’s really there, and he feels how he thinks he’s supposed to feel, but - well, what if - 

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispers to himself, swallowing roughly. So what if he’s not really a person? So what if he’s connected to these Troubles in a horrible, gruesome way that he hasn’t quite figured out yet? His friends still need help, and he’s still got a job to do. 

_ You’re not real,  _ his mind tells him, but he walks into the graveyard, anyways. 

* * *

Murphy hands Lexa her phone with as much of a smile as he can fake. “Thanks,” he says. She takes it, but he can tell by her expression that she’s not convinced everything is fine, so he takes it one step further. “Sorry about before - I was lost in thought, is all. You’re right. I’m a city person.”

She nods slowly, but before she can say anything he walks away from her. He knows that he’s not the best actor in the world, but he doesn’t know if he can keep up a facade through her questioning. Once again, he focuses on the job that they’re there to do, deciding that he’ll deal with the rest of it later. 

The graveyard is far larger than he’d thought it would be. Several graves lay in rows on the grass, some of them with legible writing, but others that are so old any markings on them have faded with time and the stone itself is weathered. A large stone angel rests in the very center, the sculpture’s hands in a praying position and its wings raised up towards the sky. From where it’s placed, it looks like the angel is watching over the graves. He supposes he’s meant to find comfort in that, but with the fog that rolls through the whole field, the scene is chilling. 

Bellamy’s standing close to the angel, so he walks over to join him. “Hey,” he says. “Have you found anything?”

“Maybe,” he replies, but he’s looking at Murphy in an odd way that he can’t quite figure out. “Are you alright?”

Murphy nods, far too quickly. “Yeah, sure, fine,” he says, brushing away his concern. He isn’t sure what to do with the information that Bellamy knows him well enough to be able to tell when something is bothering him, even when he’s doing his best to cover it up. 

“Sure,” Bellamy says, slowly, but he thankfully decides not to push. “Anyways - take a look at this.”

He gestures to the stone angel, and more specifically, to a small plaque that’s embedded in its base. It’s old, and the letters are hard to make out, but Murphy manages to make out the name  _ Caterina Reyes.  _ “That can’t be a coincidence,” he says, eyes wide as he looks up at the angel, whose own eyes are closed in its prayer. 

“I never knew this was here,” Bellamy says. “That the angel, I mean, was a grave, too. I don’t even think that Raven knew someone from her family was buried here.”

“Jaha called Raven an angel, back on the island,” Murphy recalls, “so this cannot be a coincidence.”

Bellamy nods. “There’s something about the Reyes family that Jaha wants for his own benefit. Clearly, there’s a Trouble there, that even Raven didn’t know about - until now.”

“Yeah, and it’s a big one,” he agrees, remembering how Raven’s eyes had started to glow and she’d somehow gained super strength back in the bunker. It had happened right after Emori’s blood had touched her skin, meaning that it was connected somehow to Troubled blood, but he couldn’t guess the details. 

“Hey, guys!” Lexa calls, drawing their attention. She’s walking over to join them, but when they look back, she breaks out into a run and points to something at the other end of the graveyard. There’s a definite fear in her eyes as she does so, though even this doesn’t prepare Murphy when he turns to look. 

Jaha and at least ten other Disciples are walking towards them, silhouettes half obscured by the fog. By the way they’re walking with a purpose, it’s clear that meeting them here was not an accident - this is an ambush. 

“We have to get out of here,” Murphy says, already taking a step back and putting a hand on Bellamy’s arm to draw him away with him. 

“Wait,” Lexa says, “they’ve - oh, my god.”

A snowflake falls on Murphy’s nose as he looks where she is, heart sinking as he realizes what’s going on. Jasper and Emori are with them, wrists bound behind their backs and mouths gagged to prevent them from calling out. They’re being pushed along with the group of Disciples forcefully, but worst of all, Raven walks next to Jaha’s side. She isn’t tied up like the others, and her brace seems to have been fixed. It seems, on appearances, that she’s with them completely willingly. 

“Isn’t this a treat!” Jaha calls out, voice booming over the graveyard as he and his group get within earshot. “I am so happy you all could join us for this demonstration.”

The Disciples continue to advance, and now they can see that each one of them is armed. Bellamy draws out his gun to offer some defense, but it’s not enough against ten men. “How do they all have guns?” Murphy hisses, frustration growing at his own helplessness. 

“Jaha’s been preparing for twenty-two years,” Bellamy says quietly. “He’s been thorough.” 

The group begins to break off as they get closer. Jaha stays standing in front of them, Raven at his side, though she refuses to look at any of them in the eye. Jasper and Emori are both shoved roughly to the ground next to Jaha, so that their knees are in the dirt. The rest of the Disciples spread apart, each of them drawing their weapon and aiming it at the three of them. It isn’t long until they’ve formed a circle around the group, completely cutting them off from all sides. Bellamy keeps his gun aimed at Jaha, but they all know he can’t do anything with it - if he dares to take a shot, he’s sentencing everyone else there to death. 

“I suppose it’s apt that you are here for this,” Jaha continues on, and Murphy realizes he’s being directly spoken to. “After all, this is your doing. It is only fair that you are here to watch the beginning of your end.”

Murphy hesitates, knowing that if he steps too far out of line, the Disciples won’t hesitate to blow his and his friends’ brains out. Still, he supposes if they wanted them all dead they already would be. “I don’t know how many times I need to tell you,” he says, “but I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“And so the devil preaches his lies,” Jaha replies, looking out at his crowd of followers. “But we, the holy, know better than to listen to them.”

“He’s insane,” Lexa whispers, next to him, and Murphy can only nod. 

The priest sighs, fixing Murphy with a look that seems to stare straight through him. “I offered you a chance to help me with the cleansing of our town,” he says, “but you proved you would rather keep to your wicked ways. Know that, whatever happens, you could have stopped this, had you simply chosen the path of light. The weight of your decision will sit heavy on your shoulders, but you only have yourself to blame.”

Murphy’s not sure what to say to the ramblings of a crazy priest, so he says nothing at all. Bellamy tightens his stance, taking over control of the situation. “Just let our friends go,” he calls out, “and we can all walk away from this.”

Emori’s staring at her wife that refuses to meet her eyes, whereas Jasper is looking right at Murphy, a determination in his eye that makes it seem as if he’s trying to get a message across to him silently. Murphy’s not sure what it could be, only thinking about the conversation they’d have at the veterinarian’s office earlier, where they’d both vowed to protect Monty from his fate. Monty’s not here, meaning that he’s safe for now, so he isn’t sure what else Jasper could be trying to say. 

“Your friends carry the blood of the damned with them,” Jaha says, “and so, it must be cleansed. Now that we have a Reyes with us, all is possible. You will see. And remember - if you try to intervene with what follows, you will be killed.” It’s the first thing Jaha’s said that’s been the least bit coherent. 

“Let them go,” Bellamy says again. They have no leverage in this situation, and everybody knows it. 

Jaha ignores him, and instead, he draws a knife out of his pocket. It’s small, but sharp, and it glints in the light. The reveal of the blade causes another round of snow to fall from the sky, and next to him, he can see Lexa trembling from more than just the cold. 

“It’s time,” Jaha says, talking to Raven. He holds out the handle of the knife to her, waiting for her to take it. 

Raven, however, hesitates. She glances towards the group for a moment, and then looks at Emori for the first time since they’d all gotten to the graveyard. Emori’s prevented from saying anything to her, but her expression is full of desperation, and Raven steps back slightly. “I can’t do this,” she says, softly. 

“Of course you can. It is your birthright,” Jaha says, but it’s clear he’s somewhat frustrated by her words. 

“These are good people,” Raven continues. “They don’t deserve to die.”

Jaha sighs. “The damned always hide their sins,” he says. “It makes no difference how they appear.”

“Raven, you don’t have to help him,” Bellamy calls out, distracting them both. “Just - we can figure out what’s going on together, okay? You’re our friend. We’ve got you.”

She looks at him, her lip wobbling every so slightly as she nods. “Okay,” she says, “okay, yeah, I - I won’t do this for you.”

Jaha’s eyes narrow, a pure fury taking over his features. “I warned you what would happen if you refused to follow your duty,” he hisses. Briskly, he moves over to where Jasper and Emori are and he reaches down, pulling Emori up forcefully to her feet. He pins her against his chest, holding the knife up to her throat. Now, Murphy realizes that they’ve covered her hands with thick gloves she can’t remove and Jaha himself is wearing a pair, so that she can’t use her Trouble against him. 

“No!” Raven calls, racing forwards. “No, you - please, don’t. Please.”

“Drop it and let her go!” Bellamy calls, though his words have no effect. 

Jaha only tightens his grip. “Your problem, Raven, is that you are too connected to the damned,” he says, his voice low. “You will never be able to fully embrace your birthright if you insist on keeping this contact with them. I was lenient before, but now I see that if you are to understand your destiny, you must be free of this sin yourself.”

A light rain comes down from the sky, growing in strength as the standstill continues. “Please,” Raven chokes out, “don’t do this. She’s innocent. She’s - She’s all I have.”

“Oh, my dear,” Jaha says, “you have so, so much more.” 

Just as it begins to pour, Jaha adjusts his grip on the knife, and he slashes Emori’s throat open with it. 

_ “No!”  _ Raven yells out. Bellamy calls out something he can’t make out and Lexa’s sobs match the intensity of the rain pounding down all around them. A roar of thunder sounds above them, the sun completely blocked out by a blanket of grey clouds. Jaha releases his grip, pushing Emori out of his grip and she stumbles, for just a moment, before her body falls into the wet dirt, eyes open and lifeless. Jasper stares at her, eyes wide in terror. There would never have been a time that he could have touched Emori’s skin to see her death given her own Trouble, and as such, this is something he never even had the chance to see coming. 

If Jaha feels at all bad for what he’s done, he doesn’t show it. “Now you are  _ free _ !” he roars, taking Raven by the shoulders and shaking her slightly. Above them, yet another burst of thunder can be heard. 

Bellamy, still, cannot take a shot without dooming the rest of them. “You made your point!” he cries out, his voice betraying the emotion he’s doing his best to conceal at the death of one of his closest friends. “End this, Jaha!”

“Can’t you see?” the priest yells back over the rain that shows no sounds of stopping. “That is exactly what I am trying to do.”

Murphy moves his wet hair out of his eyes, shock and adrenaline racing through his veins. “You want me, don’t you?” he yells. “Let them all go, and I’ll come with you.” He’s not real, anyways, so what does it matter?

Both Bellamy and Jaha look at him in surprise. “A tempting offer,” Jaha replies, the blood on his hands being washed away by the rain, “but one I cannot trust, given your history.”

“I mean it!” he tries again, desperation growing. “I won’t try to run away! I’ll do whatever you want!”

Jaha, though, has lost interest in him, turning his attention back to the ghostly pale Raven who has yet to take her eyes off Emori’s corpse. Gently, Jaha places the knife in her hands and she takes it, clearly not comprehending anything. “Now, it is your time,” he tells her, and then he moves away, hoisting up Jasper just like he had Emori moments before. 

“No!” Bellamy cries, but it’s hopeless. There’s nothing any of them can do. 

Jasper doesn’t fight as he’s hauled to his feet and pushed so that he’s standing only inches in front of Raven. He glances over at Murphy yet again, eyes full of a silent message that he still can’t understand. 

“This time, I will help you,” Jaha says, reaching over and grabbing Raven’s wrist in his hand. Bellamy shakes his head, and then with a cry, he fires a warning shot that goes just past Jaha’s head. Immediately after, two shots are heard from the Disciples around them. One of them Murphy sees hit the dirt right in front of Bellamy’s foot, matching his own warning. 

Jaha seems completely unbothered by this, and continues on his plan. He puts one hand on Jasper’s back, and with Raven’s wrist in the other, he pushes them together.  _ “Stop!”  _ Murphy screams, but it’s too late. The knife goes right into Jasper’s body, close to his heart. 

Only now does Raven seem to realize what’s happening, and she stumbles back in shock. It’s too late. The knife is embedded in Jasper’s chest and it’s not long before his knees buckle and he falls to the dirt, blood and life seeping out of his body faster than any of them can do anything about it. 

The thunderous rain is now washing it away, but some of his blood has gotten onto Raven’s hand. Just like it had in the bunker, it seems to sink into her skin before it disappears completely, and almost immediately after Raven’s eyes begin to glow. Even through the fog and the rain, they can all see the way they shine. 

It’s over faster than it was the first time around, and when her eyes return to normal, she begins to sob. “And so the sinner’s blood is washed clean!” Jaha cries out, fixing the three of them still standing there with a grin. 

“You’re a monster,” Lexa yells, the rain mixing with her own tears. 

“You can think so, if that makes you feel better,” he replies, and then he gestures to the Disciples, as if beckoning them to leave. “The angel of Sanctum is here to save this town, whether you like it or not. This is only the beginning. When the blood of the damned touches her skin, she absolves them of not only their cursed existence, but their Trouble as well. She will cleanse this town, until order is restored.”

If Murphy’s understanding him right, Raven’s Trouble is that she can take away other people’s Troubles - but only if she kills them first. Maybe it would affect the rest of a Troubled person’s family, and free them from their curse, but the price of all this is far too high that only men like Jaha could even consider paying it. 

Slowly, the Disciples leave, though their guns stay trained on the three of them as they retreat. “Think about what you have seen,” Jaha says as he, too, gets ready to leave. “If you refuse to cooperate with us - this fate will be your own.” With that, he turns away from them, pulling Raven alongside him. She doesn’t resist him at all or look at them before she goes. 

Before they’re even out of sight, Lexa stumbles forwards through the muddy ground, falling to the ground and crawling over to her friend’s bodies as she wails. “What happened here?” someone says softly, and slowly Murphy looks over, seeing Clarke standing at the edge of the field, her blonde hair matted to her skin from the rain. She doesn’t seem to be able to take a step forwards, the scene in front of her not making any sense, and Murphy can only do the same and stare at her. 

Slowly, he moves forwards, only to realize that Bellamy hasn’t moved, either. He looks back at him, eyes narrowing in concern. He’s dropped his gun, the silver device laying on the muddy ground, and his arms are lax at his sides. There’s an odd expression on his face, though, one that Murphy at first attributes to what’s just happened. “Bell,” he whispers, now more than ever at a loss as to what he’s meant to say in this situation. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, slowly, his knees trembling. “I - I think something’s wrong.”

Without warning, he pitches forward and Murphy races to catch him as he falls. He only manages to cushion his fall somewhat, leaning over him as Bellamy lays on the ground. Knowing that his inability to feel means he won’t be able to tell him what’s wrong, he looks at him all over frantically, trying to figure out what’s caused this. 

He feels it before he sees it. Blood seeps out from Bellamy’s chest and onto Murphy’s hand, and with more fear than he’s ever felt, he moves his jacket aside to see a bullet hole. Two shots had been fired before - one of them must have hit its mark, and without being able to feel anything, Bellamy hadn’t noticed. 

“No,” Murphy whispers, putting both hands on the wound and trying to hold down pressure, but it’s no use. The rain is obscuring his vision and Bellamy’s eyes are already slipping shut. “Bellamy, you are  _ not  _ dying here, not like this. Do you hear me?”

“Murphy,” is all he says, voice trailing off. He tries to reach up a hand, perhaps to take Murphy’s in his own, but he doesn’t have the strength and his arm falls back onto the dirt, mud coating his sleeve. 

Tears are falling from Murphy’s eyes onto Bellamy’s face but he doesn’t move. “Please, you can’t die,” he whispers, but it’s hopeless, and he knows that. With a shaking hand he reaches out and grabs the hand Bellamy had tried to give him, holding it tighter than anything he’d ever held. The touch is enough to put a small smile onto Bellamy’s face, though his eyes are closed and his head is lolling to the side. 

“I love you,” Murphy says, and Bellamy’s heart stops beating. 

He looks up for a moment, keeping a tight hold of Bellamy’s hand. The angel that they’d been standing by is covered in flecks of red blood that must have gotten there when Bellamy had been shot, but that nobody had noticed. Despite the violence that had just taken place in her watch, her hands stay clasped together in prayer, as if ignorance will wash all of the sin away. 

A roar of thunder sounds overhead and Murphy puts his head to Bellamy’s still chest. Clarke and Lexa are somewhere close to him but they seem to be far, far away. Emori and Jasper are dead, both their lives taken because a sadistic man decided he was allowed to take the cosmic forces of the universe in his own hands. 

The rain pours down from above. Murphy decides to drown in it, as he closes his eyes and does nothing but sob.  _ You’re not real,  _ echoes in his mind, and now he truly wishes he wasn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....sorry about that...


	9. changed by place or time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hail horrours, hail  
> Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell  
> Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings  
> A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.  
> The mind is its own place, and in it self  
> Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n."

The storm outside has not ceased. 

Murphy doesn’t really remember how they got here, but now he watches the torrential downpour from inside the near-empty church. He stares out the window and doesn’t even so much as cringe when lightning shatters through the sky. Absentmindedly, he wonders if the everyday townspeople of Sanctum managed to get to safety from the weather that he knows very well will not stop for a very long time. 

It doesn’t really matter, though, he supposes. Not a lot matters anymore - not when Bellamy’s corpse lies at his feet. Numbly, he’d helped move his dead friends inside the building, but now he does nothing but stand by the window and wait for the world outside to simply swallow him up. His grief, he very well knows, is not the most important thing at the moment, but that does nothing to fill the aching hole in his chest. 

_ You’re not real,  _ his mind reminds him, and as he turns away from the window to stare at Bellamy’s lifeless body he knows that can’t be true. Sure, maybe he’s not a real human being like everybody else around him, but he’s real enough to cause all this strife and sorrow. He’s real enough to show up in this town and, as far as he can tell, bring about the Troubles yet again. He’s real enough to incite the deaths of some of the best people out there, and six months from now, he’ll be real enough to vanish and never come back. 

That’s what’s going to happen to him, he thinks. Jaha’s been right about more than he cares to admit, but all signs point to Murphy being the cause of the Troubles. Every twenty-two years they come around for six months, cause massive destruction, and then they leave again. The man in the photograph that he’d assumed was his father must have been him, twenty-two years prior, the last time he’d come to Sanctum. His arrival in the town triggers the Troubles, and six months from now, his departure would end them. When Jaha had captured him in the bunker, he’d told him he would enter something called the  _ anomaly,  _ and the Troubles would leave with him. Where he goes, he has no idea, but as the rain pours on and the bodies on the floor lay still he knows, in his heart, that the sooner he’s able to leave the better it will be for everyone else. 

Murphy wonders if the devil ever feels sorry for what he’s done. He must, because real or not, the sorrow in his chest shows no signs of fading. 

Somewhere in the corner, Lexa’s trying to stifle her cries, facing away from everyone else as she tries to get her emotions under control. Clarke’s sitting beside her, gently rubbing her back and whispering words of comfort in her ear, but the storm does not wane. Nobody blames her for it. Miller and Jackson are here as well. Murphy doesn’t remember calling them, but he supposes Clarke must have, and he’s glad that at least one person here is able to think clearly. The pews of the church lay empty, and they’ve laid their friends’ bodies up on the stage. Murphy glances at the vacant pulpit where he knows Jaha would stand if he were here, grimly realizing this is most likely not even close to the darkest sermon that’s ever been given here. 

He can’t take his eyes off Bellamy’s body, now, even though he wants to. His gun, the one he’d dropped in the graveyard before falling into the dirt, sits cold in Murphy’s hand. Like everything else in the past hour, he doesn’t remember having picked it up, but the metal feels oddly comforting in his grip. There’s only one bullet left in it, so he can’t do much, but the thought of being able to  _ do  _ something with it calms his grief momentarily. Then, he wonders if Bellamy himself knew there was only one bullet left in the chamber, and the grief hits him even harder. 

The church doors  _ slam  _ open, briefly shattering his thoughts. No one speaks but they all look over, the eerie silence filled only by the oncoming footsteps. “Where is he?” Monty cries upon his entrance. His eyes are wild and frantic but nobody meets his gaze, forcing him to catch sight of the bodies himself. 

He races up the stairs and onto the creaking wood of the stage, collapsing to his knees beside Jasper’s body. Sure, they’d done their best to wrap them up but it doesn’t change the fact that Monty’s husband is lying dead in front of him, body drenched from the rain and the blood from his fatal wound. Yet again, Murphy wonders if Jasper saw his own death coming. 

The wail that Monty lets out rings through the silent church. Murphy shuts his eyes for a moment, looking away from everyone. “Monty,” Clarke whispers, but she has nothing else to say. 

“I don’t understand,” he cries, snapping his head up to look at all of them. “How? How did this happen?”

Miller’s glancing between Lexa and Murphy, waiting for one of the ones who were actually there to see it all unfold to speak, but he softly clears his throat when he realizes that neither of them are going to. “It was Jaha,” he says, quietly. The whole time, he’s holding Jackson’s hand so tightly his fingertips are growing pale. “He forced Raven to.”

“Raven? Raven did this?” Monty repeats, choking out his words between sobs. Murphy’s stomach turns and it takes everything he has not to burst into tears again as he remembers how Jaha had forced the knife into Raven’s hand, and how her Trouble had activated upon their friend’s death. If there was any chance of getting her back, there isn’t now, not after what happened in the graveyard - and especially not after her own wife had been murdered right in front of her. 

“Jaha forced her to,” Miller replies, though he doesn’t say more. Murphy supposes he  _ can’t  _ \- he wasn’t there, and the only information he has must have come from Clarke, who only saw the end result and heard some of the details from a distraught Lexa. He knows that he’s volunteered nothing the entire time. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s spoken since Jaha and his men had left them in the graveyard. 

Monty’s shaking his head, every part of his body trembling. “So was it Raven? Or was it Jaha?”

“Monty-”

“No,  _ who did this?  _ You have to tell me who did this to him!”

At this, Miller slowly walks forwards and wraps his arms around Monty, who resists for only a moment before falling into the embrace. Thunder rolls through the sky outside, and Murphy wishes that the wind would rip the ceiling off the church so they, too, could be at the mercy of the weather. It doesn’t feel right, somehow, that he’s able to stay dry. 

It doesn’t feel right that he’s not crying, either, as Monty’s sobs tear through his body. Bellamy’s corpse is still lying right next to his feet but he can’t bring himself to break down, not even over that. Maybe it’s because he knows, deep down, that he’s the one who caused this. Murphy knows he didn’t  _ mean  _ to come to Sanctum and bring about the Troubles, but he did so anyways, and Bellamy’s Trouble is what got him killed. If he’d only felt the bullet on impact, then they could have helped him right away, and then maybe - 

“Wait,” Monty says suddenly, jerkily breaking away from Miller’s hold and stumbling to his feet. “What about Echo? Has anyone called Echo?”

His own mind is moving too slowly for Murphy to figure out what he’s talking about, but Miller exchanges an uneasy glance with Jackson at the suggestion. “Monty, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says slowly. 

Monty, however, is undeterred. “No, somebody needs to call her right  _ now  _ \- she’s friends with Jasper and I, sort of, right? So, she’d do this, but someone needs to get her down here before the sun goes down!”

Very slowly, Murphy starts to catch up with his thinking as he recalls a conversation he’d had with Lexa before everything had happened. She’d explained to him how Echo’s Trouble was that she could bring people back to life - but only one person at a time, and it had to be before sundown on the day they’d died. Moreover, the Troubles had killed her entire family, and now she refused to come out of her house until they went away again. There are three bodies laid out in the church, and Murphy knows exactly why Miller looks so hesitant. 

But - if she has the ability to bring one of the back, even just one of them, then that’s worth something. “Call her,” Murphy says, capturing everyone’s attention as he speaks for the first time in what feels like a very, very long time. “Monty’s right. We have to.”

“Murphy,” Clarke says, extremely softly, like she’s afraid if she raises her voice too much he’ll break. The sentiment is meant to be nice, he supposes, but it does nothing but enrage him. “Her whole family died because they tried bringing back more than one person at a time. She isn’t going to-”

“She will,” he says, and he understands now why the feeling of the gun in his hand is the only thing bringing him comfort. “Call her, don’t call her, I don’t care. We’ll go to her. Who has a truck?”

It’s helping him to formulate a plan and stick to it, but as he looks upon the rest of the people in the church, it’s clear that they aren’t quite with him. He was only invited to their meeting and their plans through Bellamy, really, and without him he doesn’t have a connection to anybody there. Actually - with or without Bellamy, Murphy doesn’t have a connection to anyone or anything. He’s not real. In five months or so, it won’t matter if the entire town is furious with him, because he won’t exist at all. A cold numbness washes over him as the truth of that sinks in. 

His only purpose in Sanctum is to bring the Troubles around and infect the townspeople with them. He was a fool to think that he deserved to have any friends at all. 

“Well?” he says, filling the silence. “We need to move the bodies somehow, and carrying them all through the streets is going to attract attention we don’t want. So who has a truck we can use?” 

Monty’s staring at him with shining eyes like he’s now his only beacon of hope. He supposes he should take this in a positive light, but it only makes him uncomfortable, so he shifts his focus away and looks at Miller instead, who is softly nodding. “Jaha and the Disciples will probably be back at the church soon, so we should go,” he says, glancing at Jackson briefly, who doesn’t disagree. “We’ll use our truck, yeah.”

“The sun sets in five hours or so,” Clarke says. She has yet to remove her hand from Lexa’s back, who is still turned away from them, staring at the wooden walls of the church as she unsuccessfully tries to stop the storm. “If we’re going to try and get Echo to help, we have to do it before then.”

“How do we decide?” Jackson speaks up, eyes full of despair and unease. For the first time since they’d gone into the church, Murphy remembers about his Trouble, and he wonders if he’s seeing any of their friend’s ghosts at this very second. “Echo can only bring back one person. How are we supposed to - to choose?”

Monty’s eyes harden, looking back down at his husband’s body. Though he doesn’t say anything aloud, it’s clear that he’s made his choice, as twisted as it might be. Murphy thinks that really, he has too, because if it were up to him he knows what he’d do, even though it doesn’t feel good to admit that to himself. For a moment, though, his eyes wander to Emori’s body, and he thinks that someone should be here for her. Someone should be acting as her advocate, but the space next to her stays empty, a very obvious reminder that Raven should be here with them. 

Nobody else offers any competing solutions, and so in silence, they work to put the bodies into the bed of Miller’s truck that he pulls up outside of the church. The church seems to audibly creak with every move that they make. None of them speak. Outside, the storm still rages, though the fact that no one gets angry at Lexa for it proves that they’re all feeling a similar way. 

Murphy hops in the bed of the truck before anyone can stop him, as if he’s guarding the bodies that lay next to him. Wordlessly, Miller and Jackson get in the front, while Clarke, Lexa, and Monty make themselves fit in the back. The bodies have been covered by thin sheets but as the truck roars to life and slowly moves away from the church, Murphy raises his head back and lets the rain slam onto his skin. 

It feels good, if even for a moment, to pretend that he’s real. 

* * *

It doesn’t take them long to get to Echo’s house. She lives near the edge of town, most likely isolating herself on purpose since it’s likely that countless people come to her door asking for her to use her Trouble during these six months. There’s a small flower garden outside, but all the plants in it are dying. It’s clear that nobody has been outside to maintain them in a very long time. 

Murphy hops off the back of the truck, his newfound determination forcing his stiff muscles to move. He’s absolutely soaked to the bone, so much so that he knows if he were to stop and think about it for even a second, he’d never be able to stop shivering. Still, he doesn’t slow down as he marches up to the house’s front door and  _ bangs  _ on it. 

There’s no answer from within. Murphy  _ bangs  _ on the door again, and then again, only stopping when Clarke comes up next to him. “Maybe she’s not home,” she suggests. 

“Oh, she’s home,” he replies, slamming on the door again. In truth, he has no idea if Echo’s inside the house or not, but he does know he’s in no mind to think of what might happen if she isn’t. 

Murphy  _ bangs  _ once more, the wind shifting slightly so that the rain is now at their backs and moving with his movement. He wonders if Lexa’s doing this on purpose, because now the rain, too, is pounding on the door with him. He raises his fist yet again with no intention of stopping, when from the other side of the door, he vaguely hears a woman call out,  _ “Go away!” _

“Echo, we need your help!” Clarke calls out, ever the pacifist. 

_ “I said, go away!”  _ Echo calls again, and then from inside the house, she falls silent. 

If he were thinking rationally, Murphy would understand her reluctance. Her Trouble is one that people would no doubt take advantage of, like they were trying to this very moment. It must be absolutely terrifying to have more power than the cosmic forces of the universe, and he can’t imagine how she must feel, knowing that that very ability brought about the death of her entire family. He’s sure that deep down Echo does want to help people and do a good thing, and that she’s only scared, and maybe if things were different he’d try to appeal to that side of her. 

Instead, he says the one thing that he thinks will get her to open the door. When he’d met her briefly at the newspaper office, Jasper had told him that  _ she and Bellamy have a long history.  _ Murphy knows exactly what that means. “It’s Bellamy,” he calls out, hoping she’s still close enough to the door that she can hear him. 

For a few haunting seconds, he doesn’t hear anything at all from inside the house. The gun weighs heavy at his side. He’s not above using it to get in, but he doesn’t want to have to resort to that level. If Bellamy were here, he’d stop him from even considering that option, but - well. 

There’s a  _ click,  _ and the door slowly opens. Echo’s eyes are narrow as she looks out at them and the truck parked in her driveway. “Where’s Bellamy?” she asks, keeping hold of the door in her hand so that they’re still barred from entering her house. 

Murphy looks at her, for a moment, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the way she’s hunched over, slightly, her posture revealing her exhaustion and terror. He should feel sorry for her, but at the moment, he’s not feeling much of anything at all. “He’s dead,” he replies, not pulling any punches. 

Echo’s face pales. “He’s - but how?”

“Shot,” he responds, “an hour or so ago. Are you going to let us in now?”

She’s looking over at the truck yet again. Though the bodies are still covered somewhat from the rain, even from here it’s clear that there’s more than one person in the bed of the truck. “Who else?” she asks. 

“Emori and Jasper.”

To her credit, she looks truly apologetic, but she still shakes her head. “I can’t do that. I can’t do  _ three.  _ I can barely even do one.”

“Then do one.”

“I can’t help you,” she insists, and then she moves to close the door. 

From her words, it’s clear that once that door closes it isn’t opening for them again, so before he can even think about it Murphy’s reaching forwards and putting a hand on the door himself, forcing it to stay open. “I think you can,” he replies, pushing it open all the way. He doesn’t even truly register he’s doing it as he grabs hold of the gun. 

Echo just shakes her head resignedly. “You’re going to shoot me? Really?”

“If I have to.” His voice is completely flat and void of emotion, even as Clarke hisses at him to stop whatever it is that he’s doing. 

She looks at the truck once more, scoffing as she does so. “You brought Miller along, so your gun can’t hurt me.”

It takes a second for him to remember, but she’s right - Miller’s Trouble is that he’s a bullet magnet, meaning that if Murphy were to take a shot, it would redirect itself and hit Miller instead. He sighs in frustration, but he holsters the gun on his belt anyways. “At least let us in,” he tries, knowing he’s got nothing left to convince her. 

Echo’s eyes soften as she looks at him, and after a moment, she steps back and allows them entry. “Something tells me you’ll break my door down if I don’t,” she offers as explanation, but it’s clear that he was right before - there’s a part of her that genuinely does want to help them, even if she can’t. 

They bring the bodies inside and lay them on the floor of the front living room. Every single one of them is dripping wet, but if Echo minds the damage they’re doing to her carpets, she doesn’t say anything about it. “I can’t do three,” is all she says, but they knew that going in. “I don’t - I can’t do what you want me to do.”

“Your Trouble brings people back to life,” Monty says, stepping forwards to stand next to her. “I know it does, Echo. You just - You just have to touch them, right? And then you can bring him back to life before the sun sets.” Murphy catches the very distinct ‘ _ him’  _ pronoun being used, but he doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Yeah, it brings people back to life,” she says, “but their wounds don’t just disappear. I take them on. And these - these are all fatal, I can’t do that. I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Monty repeats, and he carries on in a desperate attempt to save his husband. Murphy, though, isn’t truly listening. The gun is still weighing heavy at his side and he’s starting to grow restless with inaction. Three people were just slaughtered before his very eyes and he has yet to do a single thing about it. Just by simply being here, he’s hurting them more than helping, and without Bellamy at his side he doesn’t really owe them anything other than justice for what’s been done to them. 

He’s moving back towards the door before he can stop himself. “Murphy, where are you going?” Lexa asks, speaking up for the first time in a while. The intensity of the storm relaxes for only a moment with the distraction. 

“Jaha’s responsible for all of this,” he says, even though his mind is telling him that he’s more at fault than the priest. “I’m going to end this.”

“Murphy, don’t,” she quietly pleads. The rest of the group are looking at him now, too, with mixed expressions. “It’s dangerous to go alone, and you’re not thinking clearly. Just - stay here.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Clarke says. “Take a walk, calm down, and come back.”

_ Better me than all of you,  _ he thinks, but he doesn’t say this. Instead, he looks right at Echo as he speaks. “You will help them,” he says. “I don’t have to shoot you to hurt you. Okay?”

He doesn’t wait for her to respond. Instead, he marches right back outside and into the pouring rain, slamming the door shut behind him. 

* * *

It might be nice, he thinks, to get struck by lightning. 

Bolts of it come down from the sky every so often, mixing in with the loud roar of the wind and the pounding of the rain on the asphalt beneath his feet. His boots are full of water at this point, and his jacket is soaked right through, so much so that he might as well not be wearing one at all. Murphy’s hair is so wet that it sits flat and sticks to his forehead and gets in his eyes but he makes no effort to push it to the side. 

If he were to get electrocuted, he wouldn’t have to worry about all of that anymore. Maybe with his death the Troubles would go away for good, since it was apparently his arrival that triggered them. Maybe he should use the one bullet in the gun and shoot himself in the head and be done with it all. Someone would eventually find his body, and everyone would call his brief existence in their lives a tragedy before moving on and being much happier. 

He doesn’t pass anyone on the street as he briskly makes his way to his destination. Sanctum is quiet, save for the unrelenting sounds of the storm. Everyone must have taken shelter from the weather. Maybe some of them know Lexa, or know that this storm is caused by a Trouble. Maybe they’re all hiding in fear, each one of them grateful that their Trouble isn’t causing this, but terrified that they might be the next person to bring about another person’s demise. It must be truly terrifying, he thinks, to live in this town. 

But - no matter. Murphy looks up, realizing that he’s somehow already made it to where he’s going. More time must have passed than he’d thought, because now he’s standing back in front of the church they’d just left, somehow infinitely more drenched than he had been when he’d left Echo’s house. Lexa had been right. He  _ isn’t  _ thinking clearly, because as he blinks, he can’t remember getting here. All he knows is that Bellamy is dead, and for that, he is undoubtedly to blame. 

There are a few cars parked in front of the church that weren’t there when they left, proving at least a few people are inside. It could just be some ordinary churchgoers, coming here to get a piece of solace in the midst of the storm. It could be that some people just parked their cars there and went somewhere else. There are a million explanations as to why the cars could be there, but deep in his heart, Murphy knows none of them are true. He knows exactly who is here and why. 

He doesn’t even attempt to try to open the church doors. Instead, he takes hold of the gun and steadily grips it in both hands, and then races forwards and  _ kicks  _ the doors open with all the force he can muster. 

The wood breaks and splinters on impact and the doors fly open, allowing him entry. Immediately, Murphy knows he’s in over his head. The church is full. Almost every single pew is filled, and at the front, Jaha stands at the pulpit. Upon his sudden entrance, several of the churchgoers stand and point their own weapons at him, proving that he’s crashed his way into a meeting of Disciples. Why there were only a few cars out front, he doesn’t know, but the church is full of people who want nothing more than to see all of his friends murdered. 

One of the Disciples stands but Murphy shifts his gun at them, a fire in his eyes. It’s enough to get his potential attacker to stop their advance. “Don’t touch me,” he says, knowing he’s in far too deep to stop now. He moves forwards, dripping water all over the church, but keeping his hands steady as he aligns the gun right at Jaha’s head. 

“Oh, look,” Jaha calls down at him, a wicked grin on his face, “the devil has come to plead his case.”

At this, Murphy finally realizes that Jaha’s not alone on the stage. Raven’s there, too, standing just a ways behind him. There’s a haunted expression in her eyes and from the way she’s standing, he doubts she even knows he’s there. What she’s been forced to do is now clearly hitting her at full force, and though part of the reason as to why he’s there is to get her back, Murphy wonders if there’s any piece of her left to save. 

“I’m not here to plead anything,” he says, coming closer as he walks down the church aisle and past all the Disciples who remain seated. It’s odd - the closer he looks at the seated Disciples, the less they look at him. It’s as though their eyes are purely fixed on Jaha, and even the sudden entrance of a man with a gun threatening their leader isn’t enough to tear their focus away. Something is going on here. Something isn’t quite right, and if he had any critical thinking skills left, maybe he’d be able to figure it out, but instead, he, too, focuses all his attention on the priest. 

“No?” Jaha asks. If he’s disturbed or scared at all, he doesn’t show it. “Can it be that you have finally come to ask for forgiveness, then?”

“You killed my friends,” he says in response, “and I’m here to kill you.”

At this, Jaha laughs, the sound of it just as unsettling as it had been back in the graveyard hours before. “Oh, you won’t kill me. You need me.”

“Do I?” Murphy snaps, holding the gun up higher and, he hopes, more threateningly. “I know you can’t kill me. You need me to end the Troubles, don’t you? Isn’t that what you said? If you kill me, that might not happen.” The truth is that Murphy doesn’t know if his death would end the Troubles or not, but at the moment, he doesn’t much care for his life. The thought of it ending, after everything that he’s learned and seen today, doesn’t faze him all that much. 

Jaha shrugs, conceding this point. “Perhaps. But you need  _ me  _ to tell you how.”

This is a fair point - but Murphy’s not willing to give in. “Joke’s on you. I don’t, actually.”

“You can tell as many lies as you like,” the priest says. “It does not change a thing.” 

He’s getting nowhere with Jaha, and it’s clear to him now that no matter what he says or however long he holds a gun at his head, that’s not going to change. Instead, he focuses his attention to Raven, who has yet to meet his eyes. “Raven - come with me. They can’t stop you. They need both of us.”

She glances up at him, the torment she’s experiencing clear on her face, but she doesn’t move. “I can’t,” she says, so softly that he can barely hear her words. “I hurt people. If I leave, I’ll just hurt more.”

“If you stay, they will  _ make  _ you hurt more people!”

“I can’t,” she repeats, and though he knows she’s wrong, it’s clear that above all else she is absolutely terrified at the possibility of hurting her friends. Much like himself, she believes that her presence has and will continue to cause them nothing but pain because of what she can do. If their positions were switched, Murphy thinks that he’d make the same decision that she is now. She’s his polar opposite, in that he brings about the Troubles and she ends them, but they’re far more similar than he’s ever realized. 

Knowing this, he also knows that there’s nothing he can do to help her. If she won’t come with them willingly, then she won’t come with him at all. He knows this is true because if he were in her position, he’d do exactly the same. He understands her motivations, and a part of him even sympathizes with her, but he doesn’t have the ability right now to offer her any kind of comfort. 

“Fine,” he says, snapping his eyes away from her and back to Jaha. “It’s time to end this, then.”

At this, almost all of the Disciples stand in unison. It’s eerie, watching them all move identically, turning their heads towards him and drawing their weapons. If Murphy were new to this town and all its secrets, he maybe wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but he’s witnessed plenty of odd events in his time in Sanctum that he knows something is wrong. There is something unnatural about the way all these people are moving in near unison, and the fact that they  _ all  _ have guns, and how they never seem to say much of anything at all. 

It doesn’t matter. He’s not here to figure out the Troubles. He’s only here to end them. With this, he lines the gun up with Jaha’s head, and he fires. 

There’s a  _ bang  _ as the bullet flies out of the chamber, and Murphy staggers back only slightly, the cold rain coating his skin finally starting to get to him. He keeps his eyes on Jaha, however, even as the safeties fly off almost every single gun pointed at him in the church. The woman in the pew next to him holds her gun level to his head, but in his peripheral vision, it looks as if she’s fading in and out of view. This, however, he doesn’t focus on. Instead he watches Jaha, and he waits, and he waits even longer, but - nothing. 

Murphy’s eyes narrow, slowly lowering the gun as he looks at it. It didn’t malfunction, he doesn’t think, but if that’s the case then Jaha should be down on the floor, dead. Instead, the priest is laughing as he looks down at the church below him, and as he looks back up at him Murphy realizes he’s staring at something just over Murphy’s shoulder. 

He turns around, eyes wide, only to see Miller standing in the doorway. He’s hunched over, clutching his chest. His Trouble must have redirected the shot so that it turned around and hit him instead. “Bulletproof vest,” he chokes out, catching his breath. “I’m fine.” 

“You followed me here?” Murphy asks, at a loss. He’d come in guns blazing, but now he’s fresh out of bullets. At the very least, and somewhat selfishly, this means that if any of the Disciples fire their guns, he won’t be the target. 

The distraction, however, reminds him of what he saw when he’d fired the shot. He’s sure that he saw the Disciple next to him disappear and fade back into view, however briefly. Pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t realized he was solving start to fit together. There were only a few cars outside, yet the church is packed. In all his encounters with the Disciples, they’d mostly remained completely silent and moved in unison. Only a few of them had ever even had names, such as Finn or Emerson. 

It’s true that Murphy might not be real, but now he knows - most of the people around him aren’t, either. 

“You’re Troubled,” he whispers, looking up at Jaha, who immediately narrows his eyes. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve created these people, these  _ illusions,  _ to carry out your bidding. All this time, you’ve been so angry at the Troubled, but this massive organization you’ve made, it’s all fake.”

“You’re a fool,” Jaha snaps, and then, louder this time, “We do not listen to the lies of the damned! The devil will say anything to sway us from the path of light!”

There are a few mutters of agreement from among the pews, but for the most part, the Disciples stay quiet. Sure, a few of Sanctum’s religious extremists and scared regular people have joined Jaha’s cause, but for the most part, it’s all a part of the priest’s Trouble. It explains how there always seemed to be so many of the Disciples present, and how they seemed to be able to mobilize so quickly. 

Jaha is nothing but a Troubled man so scared of his own abilities that he’s created this whole falsehood to hide them. He’s murdered people just like him in a desperate attempt to pretend to be normal. If it weren’t so sick and twisted, Murphy would feel sorry for him. 

“I thought you were deranged before,” he says, backing away, suddenly eager to put as much distance in between himself and the priest as he can, “but now I know you’re actually, hopelessly insane. You’re sick.”

“The devil weaves his falsehoods!” Jaha cries out, though the strain in his voice is giving him away. He knows the truth, just as Murphy does, and for the first time, he’s truly scared that someone else knows his secret. 

Murphy turns, hastily, grabbing Miller’s arm and pulling him out of the church with him. “Are you alright?” he asks, though he doesn’t stop moving, and by the way Miller’s keeping pace with him he already knows he is. 

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting it,” Miller says. “I wear the vest everywhere I go, but it’s not always enough.”

They’re a suitable distance outside of the church, now, and the thunderous rain that has yet to show them a single reprieve tears down from the sky and covers them with its fury. Despite this, Murphy stops suddenly, the fire in his chest overtaking him completely until he’s angrier than he’s been in a very long time. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps, shoving Miller and then taking a step forwards, so that he’s standing only inches away. “I could have  _ killed  _ you!”

“I followed you  _ because  _ you were going to kill somebody!” Miller shouts back, and he shoves Murphy back and away from him. “If I hadn’t been there, Jaha would be dead, and you’d have the entire group of Disciples after you!”

“He deserves to  _ die!”  _ Murphy fires back. For the first time since it had erupted, it feels as though the rain is working against him, now, battering him into submission. Every raindrop stings his skin and his drenched clothes stick to him, inviting the wind to sweep through his bones, forcing him to shiver. 

“Yeah,” Miller says, “he does. But if you kill him, then you’re no better than him, are you?”

Murphy bites his tongue, ceasing the rapid string of insults he wants to throw Miller’s way. Maybe in a few days time he’ll have clarity and be able to understand that he’s right, and that coming to the church was a bad move. Finding out that Jaha’s Troubled has unsettled him already. If he were responsible for his murder, that might have been something he wouldn’t be able to come back from. 

He blinks, the anger inside him deflating. “Raven’s still in there,” he says. “We should get her. We need to go and get her.”

“We will,” Miller replies, “but not like this. After everything with Echo is figured out, and we can make a plan, okay? We will. Raven’s a good person. She isn’t going to do anything that he wants her to, not by her own choice.”

It’s a bad idea to leave her behind, even if she wouldn’t go with them willingly, but Murphy knows he is in no position to win a fight against all those people, even if they’re not real. He nods, slowly, and then follows Miller across the street to where he had parked his truck. 

The drive back to Echo’s house seems to take a lot longer than the walk to the church had. Still, at some point during it, the storm abruptly stops and what’s left of the sun peeks out from behind the clouds. “Lexa did it,” he mutters, absentmindedly, because it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. 

By the time they make it back to Echo’s driveway, the sun is nearly gone. There isn’t much time left at all. Murphy feels exhausted but he gets out of the truck and walks back into the house anyways, Miller right behind him. 

The three bodies of their friends are still laying in the front living room. Echo sits by them, though she isn’t touching any of them, and she looks conflicted - meaning that she hasn’t yet used her Trouble. Clarke’s leaning against a wall, her arms crossed. Tears shine in her eyes as she stands up straight at their entrance. 

“We sedated Lexa,” she says, shaking her head both in disbelief and horror at their situation. “Jackson went and got something, I don’t know what, but we had to know when the sun was setting and she couldn’t get the storm to stop, so.”

Miller nods, sighing. “I get it. Is she going to do anything?”

All three of them turn their gaze to Echo, who doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to them. “I don’t know,” Clarke finally says. “It took a long time to get Monty to leave Jasper’s side, and we just left it up to her, but - I don’t know.”

“Come on, then,” Miller says, softly. “You’re right. We have to leave it up to her, so - let’s go.”

The two of them start to leave, but Murphy walks closer to the bodies and sinks to the floor, his back against one of Echo’s couches. Miller stares back at him, but he only shakes his head, hoping that it’s evidence enough that he’s not going anywhere. After a moment, the two of them leave, and then it’s only him and Echo, sitting together with three corpses in a room that’s steadily growing darker. 

“I’ve known Bellamy my whole life, you know,” Echo says, after several minutes of silence. He doesn’t say anything to this, so she continues on. “Emori and Jasper too - I mean, in a town this small and so full of secrets, we all know each other. But Bellamy and I have always been close. The Troubles both took so much from us. I think we understood each other in a way that nobody else did.”

He’s supposed to say something kind, here, he knows, but he can’t think of anything appropriate. “None of that really matters, now,” is all he can think to say. If Bellamy were here, he’d be shaking his head in disapproval at that and taking charge of the situation, gently coaching Echo through one of the most difficult decisions she’s ever made. 

“Maybe that’s true,” she replies. “But - knowing him for that long, it makes me think what he would do if he were in this situation, you know? He’s always trying to help people, even when it comes at cost to himself. It’s what I - well, it’s what I loved about him.”

Murphy doesn’t miss the uneasy way she glances over at him when she admits that, but it doesn’t surprise him. He knows, better than anyone, that Bellamy is easy to love. “Bellamy always does the right thing,” he says. “He always seems to know exactly what the right thing is, too.”

Echo sighs, though she nods. The sun is just barely visible past the horizon, its last few rays slinking through the window and into the room. “I’m not like him,” she admits. “I never have been.”

“Me neither.”

“I need him here, so he can tell me what that ‘right thing’ is.”

Three bodies lay before him, but a hint of a smile pulls at his mouth. “Yeah. Me, too.”

She’s quiet for a moment, but then out of nowhere she says, “I’m scared.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Really, he supposes that there’s nothing  _ to  _ say, so all he does is fix her with a look that he hopes seems genuine as he responds, “Me, too.”

The understanding that she’s not the only one with fears about the situations seems to get through to her, and she nods, a newfound determination settling in her eyes. “Promise me, Murphy, that you’ll help this town,” she says, moving slightly closer to the bodies. “There’s no one left of my family. There are no more second chances. Sanctum isn’t going to last much longer, not with this horrible cycle carrying onwards.” 

Murphy nods, though deep down, he knows the only way to help Sanctum is to disappear. There’s no saving the town if he’s part of it, but there’s no point getting into that, not right now. 

She seems to accept this, however, and suddenly she reaches out, pulling the sheets off the bodies. Murphy’s stomach twists as he looks at the cold corpses of his friends but he doesn’t move as Echo comes even closer to them. Then, in a series of quick movements, she grabs Bellamy’s hand, and then Emori’s, and then Jasper’s. 

“All three?” he whispers, before he can stop himself. “Will that - Will it work?”

“I don’t know,” she says, leaning back against the edge of another couch, directly across from him. “It won’t happen until morning, if it’s going to happen at all.”

He nods, and before he can think too much about it, he grabs Bellamy’s hand in his own. The contact had brought him peace right before his death and he wonders - no, he hopes - that if he does come back to life, then it will do the same for his revival. “What about you?” he asks. 

“Only hours ago you were threatening me with a gun. Now you care?”

“Echo-”

“Relax,” she says, “I’m kidding. I know why you did that. I don’t know what will happen to me, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the right thing to do. Just - if I don’t survive the night, take care of him, okay?”

She doesn’t have to elaborate. He knows exactly who and what she means. “I will,” he vows, and though he doesn’t say this part aloud, he knows he’ll do just that even if it means his own demise. 

Echo nods, falling silent. He, too, has nothing more to say. As the last rays of sunlight from the day fade away, Murphy clutches Bellamy’s dead hand tightly in his own and he waits, and he waits, and he waits. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the extended break on this chapter! i took the holidays off, i can't lie, but we're back at it. also, since this is chapter 9, that means we're officially half way done! so thank you all for reading and sticking with this story and supporting it, i really appreciate it. a big happy new year to you all! i hope 2021 is going great for you all!


	10. time that is past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But light of yesterday is cold like glass.  
> Time that is past harder than diamond  
> Turns the fine air, and freezes to the bone.  
> The sap stirs once, and slumbers when we pass.  
> The breath we breathe just thaws the air beyond,  
> Till stone we waked turns to harder stone."

Echo takes her last breath at half past seven in the morning. 

It happens quickly and quietly, two things that seem out of place given the reality of the situation. She and Murphy had been sitting on her living room floor all night, neither of them saying anything, both merely waiting. As the hours dragged on, anxiety tightened in Murphy’s chest as the three bodies in front of them did not stir. 

And then - just as the first rays of the dawning sun began to wash the room in a morning glow, Echo gasps, eyes flying open in shock. Her back remains pressed against the couch but every muscle in her body seems to tense as her Trouble takes control. Silently, she reaches her arm out towards him, meeting his gaze with a hushed plea behind her eyes. It takes Murphy less than a second to figure out what it is she’s asking of him, and without hesitation, he shifts over to grasp her hand in his own, holding on tightly. 

The gesture seems to calm her somewhat, and though it’s clear she’s in pain, she settles back against the couch. Her eyes slip shut a moment later and Murphy squeezes her hand again, trying to pass along a reminder that she’s not alone. He doesn’t know how much of that means anything to her, but as he sits next to her, bathed in the warmth of the morning sun, the true weight of her sacrifice sits heavy on his shoulders. “Thank you,” he says softly, though there’s no indication if she hears him at all. 

Echo takes a shuddering breath, one that seems to threaten to tear her whole body apart, and then she falls still. He listens, and he waits, but her lungs do not heave, her heart does not beat, and her eyes do not open. The sun shines against her skin and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that she died peacefully. 

Slowly, Murphy sits back, though he doesn’t let go of her still hand, not yet. There’s a thin scar on Echo’s neck that wasn’t there moments before, as if her throat has been slit, but the wound doesn’t bleed. That’s how her Trouble works, he supposes - she takes on the scars of those she tries to bring back. He knows that he should feel grateful, but as he continues to sit in silence, all he feels is a deep shame that there are now four bodies in front of him instead of three. 

He lets go of Echo’s hand, though he’s gentle as he does so. Now is the time, he knows, to see if her sacrifice was worth anything at all, or if he’d talked an innocent woman into giving up her life for no reason. This is the part he’s been dreading. No matter what happens, though, they’ve lost. No matter what happens at least one person is not leaving this room ever again, and that is not something he can feel grateful over. 

Still, he slowly moves forwards, listening for any signs of life. For one heartstopping moment, he hears nothing at all. Nobody moves, nobody breathes, and Murphy’s hands begin to tremble as the room remains cloaked in silence. “Please,” he whispers, though there’s no one around to hear it, and he isn’t sure exactly who he’s pleading to.  _ What have we done?  _ plays on repeat through his mind, horror filling his chest as he begins to think that maybe this is it, and nothing is going to happen at all. 

And then - he hears it. Right in front of him, Bellamy’s corpse takes a breath. It’s quiet and shallow at best, but it’s definitely there. Murphy lets out a soft cry before he even realizes he’s done it, gently pulling back the sheet that they’d covered his body with. Already, colour is returning to Bellamy’s skin and he’s  _ warm _ again, filling back up with signs of life as his heart starts to beat once more. He doesn’t awaken, not yet, but he’s alive. 

The possibility of him not coming back to life was something that Murphy hadn’t given himself the chance to ponder, but now that he knows he won’t have to, tears of definite relief sting as they form in his eyes. A seed of guilt sits heavy in his chest, too, as his gaze flicks back up to Echo’s lifeless form. It doesn’t feel right that he’s found solace when her life is not coming back, but he can’t stop himself. 

Slowly, he crawls across the floor to where his other friends lay. He pulls back the sheet more, feeling an instant rush of relief as he sees Emori, who is also clearly coming back from death. Knowing that he’s immune to her Trouble, he gently touches her wrist, letting out a breath as he makes out a definite pulse. Across her neck is a thin scar that matches the one Echo took on. He suspects that it will never truly go away. 

Murphy looks over to his right. Immediately, his chest tightens. He doesn’t even have to reach out and check for sure, but he does anyways, because this is something that doesn’t make any sense to him at all. It doesn’t process in his mind, not even close, and he does nothing but stare for several minutes in silence, waiting for a sign that doesn’t come. 

Jasper’s cold. He’s not coming back. 

This is how the rest of his friends find him as they come into the living room. He’s kneeling in front of the four bodies, two of them alive and two of them dead. “Did it work?” Clarke asks, and he manages to glance over at her, seeing her hopeful expression fades as she looks at him. Murphy knows his grief is obvious, as he hasn’t slept, and his bloodshot eyes mixed with tears are evidence enough that  _ something has gone wrong.  _

Monty bursts into the room next, shoving his way past everyone only to fall to his knees next to Jasper’s body. Unlike the church, he doesn’t wail this time, or demand answers. He only tries to stifle his own sobs as he sits next to his dead husband in silence, feeling the grief that comes from knowing that his love was the only one that didn’t get a second chance. “Don’t do this to me,” he’s whispering in a hushed voice, on repeat, desperately clasping onto Jasper’s hand as if this will make him come back. “Jasper, I love you. I love you. Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” Murphy manages, but this is an apology that’s hollow and meaningless, and everyone knows it. He  _ is  _ sorry, but saying so won’t bring Jasper back, and it won’t make Monty feel any better. 

Clarke’s coming over as well, softly kneeling down on his other side, close to where Bellamy and Emori lay. Still, neither are awake, but knowing that they  _ will  _ be okay is knowledge enough for them all. Her sadness, too, is palpable, but it’s clear she’s doing everything she can to hold it together. 

“Is Lexa okay?” Murphy asks, wiping his eyes and doing what he can to compartmentalize his own emotions. 

She smiles, softly. “She’s still asleep, but she’ll wake up soon,” Clarke replies, casting an eye out at the soft morning sun. “I suspect that we’ll all know when she does.” To be honest, Murphy hopes that she does wake soon. It doesn’t feel right for the world to look so beautiful and serene when Jasper and Echo are no longer in it. 

Miller and Jackson stand off to the side, holding each other’s hands, perhaps grateful that they are able to stand together at all. After a moment, however, Jackson lets go and slips out of the room, fairly abruptly. Miller watches as he goes, but he doesn’t make any attempt to follow. 

As Murphy stares down the hall where Jackson’s disappeared to, a new realization dawns on him. Just before they’d gone to the graveyard and Jaha had murdered his friends, Jasper had told him that Monty’s death was on the horizon. He’d promised him that he’d do everything he could to stop that from happening, but now as Murphy thinks over the vow, he begins to realize he doesn’t know  _ how.  _ Jasper didn’t tell him any more details about his death other than it was happening soon and that he thinks Jaha is responsible, and now, he can’t ask. It was Jasper’s dying wish, and he has no way to fulfill it. There’s no way to find out what it is that he saw and how to stop it from occurring,  _ except  _ \- 

It’s wrong of him, but he stands and briskly leaves the room before anyone can stop him. Murphy’s always been good at pushing aside his own emotions if there’s something that he can do to solve the situation, no matter what it is. And - it’s a bit easier, this time, since he knows that Bellamy is alive and that he will be fine. This he knows is wrong of him, and he feels guilty for thinking this at all, but this, too, he pushes aside. 

Jackson’s in the bathroom down the hall, facing the mirror and hands gripping the sides of the sink as he keeps his head down. He clearly wants to be alone, and Murphy knows he should respect his wishes, but instead he walks right into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. At the sound of the door clicking shut, Jackson raises his head and looks over at him, eyes wide. “Murphy? What are you doing?”

“Can you see him?”

It doesn’t take long for Jackson to figure out exactly what he’s asking, his eyes narrowing as he does. Murphy knows that he doesn’t necessarily have control over his Trouble, and that seeing ghosts everywhere he goes must be more traumatic than he can imagine, but he has to ask. Jackson, however, only sighs. “Murphy-”

“Just - can you see him or not?”

“I can,” Jackson whispers, pursing his lips as he seems to stare at a spot just to the right of Murphy’s shoulder. 

Murphy blinks, somehow surprised at this answer even though it’s the one he wanted. “I need to talk to him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I need to ask him something,” Murphy says, pushing the issue past where he should. “It’s important, Jackson.”

There’s at least a piece of Jackson that believes him, but still, he shakes his head. “Ghosts aren’t like people, Murphy. They can’t just answer questions like the living can.”

“I was there when Finn possessed you,” he reminds him. “We asked him questions, and he answered those. I’m not asking you to do that again, just - ask him something for me.”

Jackson sighs, running a hand through his hair, though every so often his gaze keeps moving back to where the ghostly Jasper must be standing. Murphy wonders if the ghosts ever leave him alone, or if they simply grow in number around him as more and more people die. “Enough time had gone by between Finn’s death and when we talked to his ghost,” he says. “He’d had time to process his new reality, and even then, you saw how quickly he lost his hold and became obsessed with one request, making sure his mom knew what had happened to him.”

Unfortunately, this does make some sense to Murphy, but he’s not done trying yet. “I just - it would be quick. Just one thing.”

“You don’t understand,” Jackson replies, and even though he has every right to be, he doesn’t seem the least bit frustrated with him. “Ghosts, especially ones so close to their death, don’t have a semblance of who they are. Jasper might know or remember one or two things, but that’s it. The dead can’t communicate like we can. They don’t know how, and this alone torments them. They are stuck in a place where nobody can see them, or talk to them, or touch them, and eventually it drives them insane.”

“Jasper died yesterday, though,” he points out, “so he won’t be at that point, yet.”

Once again, Jackson’s eyes return to the space that Jasper takes up, sighing as he takes in something only he can see. “He’s not saying anything,” he says, “and I can tell, just by looking at him, he’s not the Jasper we knew. I’m sorry. I can’t do anything for you.”

At this, he moves to slip past him and exit the bathroom, but a sudden urgency overtakes Murphy and he throws his hand out, grabbing hold of Jackson’s arm to stop him. “Please,” he whispers, “it’s not for me. It’s for Monty.” Knowing that he won’t be able to do this alone, he quickly tells Jackson what Jasper had told him about Monty’s impending demise. 

He finishes his explanation, desperation clear on his face as Jackson stares at him. There’s a beat of silence where the other man is clearly shocked beyond belief, but then his eyes steel and he nods. “Okay,” he says, and then once again, he looks back behind Murphy. “Jasper - when is Monty going to die?”

Murphy glances back at forth between Jackson and where he presumes Jasper stands, waiting for someone to say something, but nobody does. “Well?” he asks. “What did he say?”

“He’s not saying anything,” Jackson sighs. “I don’t know. He’s just staring at me.”

“Well - ask him again!”

Jackson rolls his eyes at this, but he doesn’t try to leave again. “Jasper,” he repeats, “when does Monty die?”

There’s another pause, and Murphy’s about to try to accept that he’s not going to get any help and he’ll just have to figure out how to keep Monty alive without knowing the circumstances of his death, when suddenly Jackson tenses. Murphy’s still holding onto his arm, and he moves to let go out of reflex. Out of nowhere, though, Jackson’s other hand clamps down on top of his, holding him there. His shoulders are tense and he stands completely straight, though this is nothing compared to Jackson’s eyes. They’re completely rolled back into his head, as Murphy looks into them with fear, he only sees their whites. 

“Jackson?” he says, tentatively. Again, he tries to move his hand away, but Jackson’s grip tightens in response. This isn’t anything like how he’d looked when Finn had spoken through him, but it’s very clear to him that the man standing in front of him is  _ not  _ Jackson, so he tries again. “Jasper?”

Jackson’s - no,  _ Jasper’s  _ \- head snaps towards him. “I saw Monty’s death,” he says, though his voice sounds strained and forced. “It’s going to happen soon.” 

With even more growing horror, Murphy realizes that this is exactly what he’d said to him back at the veterinarian’s office, when he’d first told him about Monty’s death. Just like Finn, he’s latched onto one piece of information that he’s trying to get across - only, Murphy’s already heard this part. 

“I know,” he whispers, trying to get past his initial fear and shock at what’s happening, “but when?” He already knows Jaha is most likely the culprit, but the priest has a habit of appearing even when they don’t expect him to be there. 

“It’s going to happen soon,” he repeats, though he’s speaking quieter this time, like every word hurts to say. What’s happening here, this possession, it’s clear now that Jackson hadn’t wanted it to happen. He’s unwilling in this matter, and Murphy knows because of that he should be doing all he can to banish Jasper, but he doesn’t. Later, he’ll try and convince himself that he’s doing the right thing here, but he knows he’s always been selfish. 

“When?” Murphy asks, forcefully. “Where does it happen? How can I stop it?”

His eyes are still completely white, but Jasper seems almost wistful. “It’s so green,” he whispers. “He loves it here. He’s going to love it here, you know?”

“Jasper, you have to tell me where it happens!”

“It’s so green,” he says yet again, voice barely audible. “I think he’s really going to love it here.” 

And then - he’s gone. Jackson stumbles backwards and then slides down the bathroom wall, blinking rapidly and breath heaving as he comes back to himself. Murphy goes down with him, half to make sure that he’s alright and half because he isn’t able to process what’s just happened yet, and his hand is still holding his arm. “That was him,” Jackson says, after a moment, still clearly shaken. “I - that was him, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Murphy says, gently removing his hand from his arm but not getting up to leave. He’s not sure what he’s meant to do in this situation. Truthfully, he doesn’t know Jackson all that well, but the realization that he can get possessed by the dead without his consent must be terrifying. Moreover - it’s his fault it happened in the first place. All his instincts are telling him to bolt, but he stays out of a feeling of guilt and obligation. 

“Did he say anything?”

“Nothing that made sense,” he says, sighing. 

Jackson nods, head down and eyes closed, and only now does Murphy realize that he’s shaking. “Well - I can try again. I’ll try again. It’s important.”

“No,” Murphy replies, quickly, never wanting to see that sight again. “Just - hang on. I’ll get Miller.”

To this, though, Jackson shakes his head. “No, don’t. He’ll - I don’t want him to worry. It’s fine. Just give me a second.”

The other man is cold, shaking both from a chill only he feels and fear he’s trying not to let show, and Murphy knows he can’t leave him alone. Jackson might hate him for telling him, and Miller might hate him for letting this happen at all, but he knows that it’s necessary they both know what’s going on. This new side to Jackson’s Trouble is dangerous, and it’s more important that he has help with it if he needs it than if they like him or not. 

“Miller,” he calls out, opening the bathroom door as he does so. Seconds later, Miller’s in the doorway, eyes going wide as he takes sight of his husband curled up on the floor.

“What did you do?” he snaps, moving down to Jackson’s level, and turning the blame against Murphy before he even knows about the situation. 

It’s only fair he does, he supposes, so he doesn’t try to convince him otherwise. “I’ll let Jackson tell you,” he says, though neither of them are paying him much attention anymore. This, too, is fair, so he silently takes his leave and walks out of the bathroom and back down the hall. His mind is moving too slowly yet also far too quickly for him to keep up, as Jasper’s meaningless words bounce around his ears. He’s trying to decipher what they meant, but he thinks, truly, they’re simply echoes of who he used to be. 

He stops short as he walks back into the living room. Echo’s body has been laid down next to Jasper’s, but Emori is sitting upright a short distance away from them. She’s holding her knees close to her chest, one hand wrapped around them while the other rubs absentmindedly at the scar on her neck. She meets his gaze as he enters for a moment, though she doesn’t say anything, only nodding at him instead. Again, it’s selfish, but he doesn’t stop to think about how she must be feeling - his eyes begin to search the room for something else, anxiety growing as he doesn’t find it. 

Bellamy is nowhere to be seen. 

“He left,” Clarke says, as if sensing his discomfort. She’s sitting against the wall, watching Monty with careful eyes. He hasn’t moved from Jasper’s side. 

“What do you mean, he left?”

“He woke up,” she explains, “and he left. I’m sorry, he didn’t say where he was going.”

Murphy blinks in disbelief. “And - you just let him go?”

“I think he just needed a second, Murphy. He can take care of himself.”

“Seeing that he was just  _ dead _ ,” he snaps, “I don’t think he can, no!” 

Clarke’s eyes narrow as she hisses at him to stop, tilting her head to gesture over in Monty’s direction. He’s trembling, his eyes shut, maybe in response to the yelling, or maybe to the reminder that his husband is dead and is never coming back. Once again, a wave of guilt threatens to crush Murphy and he falls silent, not willing to risk saying anything else that might hurt someone he actually cares about. 

He does care about these people, he does. And now that the immediate threat is gone, for at least a moment, he’s again forced to reckon with the reality that he isn’t real. He brought the Troubles here with his arrival, and only his departure from this town and this identity itself will make them go away. The only way he can help anybody is by leaving, as much as it hurts. 

He does care about these people, so he walks out of the house without another word. 

* * *

Bellamy, for all his quirks, is not a hard person to read. It doesn’t take long for Murphy to figure out where he thinks he’s gone, and sure enough, as he walks into Sanctum’s park, he finds him sitting on a bench, staring at the stone statue of the young girl. The first time Murphy had been here, she’d been smiling - now, however, it’s as if the stone is weeping. He remembers that Bellamy had told him this was his sister. Before learning the truth about the Troubles, he’d assumed it was a memorial - but now, he wonders what happened to her that made her this way. 

Wordlessly, he sits down on the bench next to Bellamy. A soft wind drifts through the park, which save for the two of them, is mostly empty. “You found me,” Bellamy says after a moment, though he keeps staring forwards at the statue. 

Murphy turns to look at him, taking a moment to confirm that he’s alive, and he’s here, and that he isn’t going to keel over and die on him again. “I did,” he finally says, turning so that he’s looking at the statue as well. “You told me this was your sister, once, and you have a photo of her by your bedside. I thought you might come here for comfort.”

To this, he hums in confirmation. “She is my sister,” he says, softly. “Her name is Octavia.”

“That’s a lovely name,” he says. “You said - she  _ is.  _ She’s still alive, then? She can hear us?”

It takes a while for Bellamy to respond, but Murphy doesn’t try to rush him. “At least a part of her is still here,” he finally says, though he sighs. “She has emotions, and she can display them, but - no, I don’t know if she can hear us.”

He isn’t sure he should ask, but then his impulsivity gets the better of him. “What happened to her?”

“It happened during the last time the Troubles were here,” Bellamy answers, his voice soft and quiet as he stares at his sister, “twenty-two years ago. She’s my half-sister, so she got her fathers Trouble given to her, not my mother’s, like I did. Anything that she touched, she turned to stone.” 

Murphy takes a deep breath, knowing where this story is going. “Oh,” is all he manages to say, not sure what else there is to say in a situation such as this one. 

“Her father apparently wore gloves, and this kept it from hurting anybody, kind of like what Emori does,” Bellamy continues, “but Octavia’s three. She didn’t understand. We tried to get her to keep them on, even to tape them down to her skin, but - she didn’t know any better. She took them off, and tried to hold her father’s hand. He turned to stone, she got scared, and before anyone could stop her she’d touched her own arm - and that was it.”

“So you brought her here,” Murphy says. 

“Yeah, she always loved it here.” He sighs, leaning back against the bench, turning his head up towards the sky. “We just thought it would be nice if she could see it all the time, you know, if there was any part of her that kept on living even after that.” 

Murphy nods, another question in his mind, though he waits a moment before he poses it. “Are you okay?”

Bellamy chuckles at this, closing his eyes against the bright sun above them. “Sure. Yeah. I don’t know.”

“Bell, please.”

He looks back over at Murphy, and now he can see the true vulnerability behind his eyes as he does so. “Echo and Jasper are dead,” he says. “How am I supposed to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Murphy sighs in agreement. “Yeah, I know. I don’t know.”

“I just - I can’t believe Echo did that,” he says. “She always hated her Trouble so much, because it did to her entire family what it did to her last night. They all tried to bring back too many people. She knew exactly what was going to happen to her, but she did it anyways, and I wonder - what if she’d only tried to bring back two of us, not three? Maybe she would have survived that.”

“Don’t,” Murphy says immediately, stopping Bellamy from spiralling any further into those thoughts. “We don’t know how it worked.  _ She  _ didn’t know how it worked.”

Bellamy’s quiet for a moment. “No, I know,” he says, eventually, “It just - it’s not fair. She didn’t deserve that.”

“She really cared about you,” he tells him, remembering how last night Echo had made him promise to keep Bellamy safe. “She loved you a lot.”

Though his eyes remain sad and full of grief, a small smile tugs at the corner of Bellamy’s mouth as he thinks about this. “I loved her, too,” he says. “At least - I thought I did, at the time.”

“You thought you did?”

“I hadn’t ever felt that way about somebody. You know, the kind of love they write about in all the stories, that they tell us we’re supposed to feel. I did love her, just not like that. But I hadn’t ever felt that way, so I didn’t know.” He pauses, and then, “I mean - I hadn’t felt that way  _ yet.”  _

Murphy swallows, heart missing a beat as he thinks he understands what Bellamy’s trying to say. Still - he doesn’t push further. It’s not fair to him, not given all that he knows now about his very existence. “I’m sorry,” slips out before he can stop it, though, and this has Bellamy looking over at him quizzically. 

“You saved my life,” he says, softly, turning to face him fully and then moving closer to Murphy’s side. “Don’t apologize for that.”

“That’s not - I’m just sorry.” Murphy keeps on looking forwards, refusing to meet his gaze. 

Bellamy doesn’t say anything for a moment, until finally, he breaks the silence that’s fallen between them. “Murphy,” he says, “look at me.”

He shouldn’t. Really, what’s best for both of them is if he gets up and leaves the park and never talks to him again, but he remains seated. Bellamy doesn’t push, but he keeps sitting there right along with him, waiting for him to do what he’s asked. Something inside Murphy gives into his own desires and he turns his head, finally meeting Bellamy’s gaze that’s full of warmth. “I’m sorry,” he says, again, because he is and he doesn’t know how else to get that across. 

“Hey,” Bellamy says, softly, “tell me what’s wrong.”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to do that. Murphy’s been pushing everything down and aside for so long that he really has no clue how to begin to tell him what’s been going on in his mind, or the truth about who he is, or what it means for  _ them.  _ He takes a deep breath, fighting every urge he has to break eye contact and flee. And still, no matter how long he sits in silence, Bellamy appears nothing but completely understanding. 

“I’m not real,” he finally says, the words barely audible as they finally leave his brain and enter the world. 

Bellamy’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

And then - the dam breaks. Suddenly Murphy’s telling him everything, from how he can’t remember his life before coming to this town, to Zev not being real either, to how he’s the one responsible for the Troubles coming back to town. He tells Bellamy that Jaha was right, and that the only way to save Sanctum is if he leaves in a few months time. He tells him how the man in the photograph, who they had thought was his father, was actually  _ himself,  _ twenty-two years prior, the last time he came to town and brought the Troubles with him. 

It all spills out before he can stop it, and while he isn’t sure how much of it makes any sense, Bellamy never stops him. He never looks away, or makes to leave, or tells him that what he’s saying can’t be true. He just sits next to him and listens to everything he says. 

“So - I’m not real,” Murphy finally finishes, letting out a long breath as he finally stops talking. He feels somewhat empty now that he’s finally let out everything that he’s been holding in, but it’s been a huge relief to tell someone. 

Bellamy’s quiet for a moment, but then suddenly he reaches forwards and grabs Murphy’s hand in his own. “I can feel you,” he says, his voice calm and steady despite what he’s just been told. “I can see you, sitting next to me. I can hear you when you talk. That makes you pretty real to me.”

“That’s not what I mean, though,” he whispers, though he doesn’t try to take his hand back, knowing that Bellamy, fresh back from the dead, is probably benefitting from the comfort, too. “I’m not a  _ person.  _ I don’t have a past, or any memories. I just exist to bring the Troubles here, for some fucked up reason.”

“Murphy,” he says without missing a beat, “you’re the realest thing I’ve ever known.”

He lets out a choked cry to this, though he tries his best to stifle it only moments later. “Bell, I can’t stay,” he manages to say. “I have to go to make the Troubles go away.”

“No,” comes the response, so steady and sure that for a moment, Murphy believes it, too. “No, I’m not losing anybody else that I care about to the Troubles, okay? We’re going to figure this out. We’re going to make the Troubles go away  _ and  _ make sure you stay. Got it?”

He knows very well that there’s no way that either of them can do anything to disrupt a cycle that’s been in place for centuries, but he nods, if nothing else to appease him. After all, Bellamy’s just come back from the dead. Murphy doesn’t want to be responsible for causing him more strife than necessary, not now, and not ever. “Okay,” he says. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “I love you, Murphy. You know that, right?”

It feels nice to pretend for just a second that this life, with all it has, could be his. “I love you, too,” he says, and he truly does mean it with every part of himself, he  _ does _ , but how truthful can it possibly be when he’s nothing more than a fabrication? 

For Bellamy, though, it’s enough - and knowing that the man next to him finds some solace in the moment, Murphy doesn’t say or do anything else to shatter it. He just sits next to him, even when the sun rather suddenly vanishes behind the clouds and a soft rain descends upon them. 

* * *

The rain is nothing like the storm from yesterday, but eventually they seek shelter inside and return to Echo’s house. By the time they get there, several plans have been made without them. Miller and Jackson have taken Monty and Jasper’s body with them in their truck. What they’re planning to do Murphy doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask - nobody in that group is necessarily all that happy with him at the moment. 

Clarke, Lexa, and Emori are still in Echo’s house, Lexa having woken around the time the rain began. “Sorry,” she says, gesturing vaguely out the window. “I’m trying.”

“It’s all good,” Murphy says, truly not caring in the slightest about the rain. 

It turns out that Clarke and Lexa have decided to take it upon themselves to get Echo’s affairs in order, since she doesn’t have any living family to do it for her. “We’ll make funeral arrangements, too,” Clarke says. “We just owe her so much, you know?”

“Thank you,” Bellamy says, and it’s clear he’s truly grateful for that. “She would appreciate this a lot, too.”

The house, however, feels like it’s getting smaller by the minute. Murphy can’t help but wonder, after what happened earlier with Jackson, if Jasper’s and Echo’s ghosts are wandering about where they can’t see them. He’s in the process of thinking of an excuse so that he can slip out again when Emori speaks up. “I’m going to go back to my boat,” she says. “I need to check up on it.”

She’s not asking for company, but Murphy glances over at her anyways. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have-”

“No,  _ we’ll  _ come with you,” Bellamy cuts in, settling the matter before anyone else can contest it. 

“Yeah, we’re fine here,” Clarke says, and Lexa nods. “Stay safe, okay? We just got you guys back.” 

_ Safe  _ is a very relative term in a town like Sanctum, but they all nod and agree that they’ll do their best, anyways, before leaving. The rain doesn’t bother them, which is good, since they have to walk across town to get to the harbour since Miller’s truck was already in use. 

Still, it doesn’t take long before they get to their destination. They’ve made the walk over in silence, and Murphy’s not about to push and change that. He’s with two people that were just murdered less than a day before, and while it’s true he’s got his own interesting set of problems, he has no idea how to approach something like that. 

“You guys can go,” Emori says as soon as they step onto the docks of the harbour. She’s walking purposefully towards her and Raven’s boat, the  _ Rubicon,  _ not sparing either of them a second glance. 

“Why would we do that?” Bellamy asks, keeping pace with her. 

“I’m sure you have more important things to do,” she says. “So. It’s fine. You can go.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “We want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I am, so it’s fine,” she says, all too quickly for it to be the slightest bit believable. Murphy lets it go, but it’s clear Bellamy’s about to push it further, the worry he has for his friend overtaking any kind of boundary. 

And then - Raven steps out of the boat and onto the dock. Bellamy’s words die in his throat as they all stop and immediately turn to stare at her, the only sound around them now that of her footsteps on the dock. “You’re here,” she says, softly, staring right at Emori as she does. 

Murphy’s the first of the three of them to collect himself. “Raven, what are you doing here? You chose your side back at the church, didn’t you?” Maybe he doesn’t have a right to be angry at her for that, since he knows exactly why she did it, but he still gave her a chance at escape - and she didn’t take it. This, to him, is enough to doubt where her loyalties actually lie. 

“Are you here for me?” Emori whispers, taking a small step towards her wife. They’re right next to each other, then, and even if Raven’s unable to physically embrace her because of her Trouble, the love and the heartache between them is palpable. 

“I thought you died,” Raven says, softly. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

Emori lets out a breath in disbelief. “I did die.”

To this, Raven is clearly at a loss. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I want to say I came here for you. I  _ wanted  _ to come here for you, I did.” 

“But you didn’t,” Emori says for her, casting her eyes towards the ground as she speaks. 

Raven doesn’t immediately deny this, and he suspects that this hurts the worst. Instead, she looks over at Murphy, a fire in her eyes that he’s never seen from her before. “No,” she says, “I came for him.”

He narrows his eyes, and almost immediately, Bellamy’s standing closer to his side. It’s a meaningful gesture, but Murphy’s fairly certain that whatever she’s here for, this is something that he can’t protect him from. “What do you want, Raven?” he asks, but a part of him already knows the answer. 

“I know what you can do,” she says, “and I’m here to make sure you do it.”

“What are you talking about?” Bellamy says, but Murphy doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need her to elaborate or explain - he knows exactly what she’s here for, and the worst part is, he can’t even truly blame her for it. 

“I want you to end the Troubles,” she says - and, yeah, he thought as much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it !!! thank you greatly for everyone who has been reading and saying nice things to me i greatly appreciate it :-)


	11. withered stumps of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And other withered stumps of time  
> Were told upon the walls; staring forms  
> Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.  
> Footsteps shuffled on the stair.  
> Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair  
> Spread out in fiery points  
> Glowed into words, then would be savagely still."

“I want you to end the Troubles,” Raven says, wind and rain moving through her hair as she stands in front of her and Emori’s boat. She’s so sure of herself and confident when she says this, as if this declaration alone is going to save the town. If Murphy didn’t know any better, he’d probably believe it. 

Bellamy’s only known the truth surrounding Murphy’s presence in Sanctum for a few hours at this point, but like he does everything in life, he takes this in stride. “That’s impossible,” he says, “and you know that, Raven. They’ve only been here for - what, half a month at this point? There’s at least five more months of them to go before that can even happen.”

She steps forwards at this, coming closer to them. Emori’s standing off to the side, though she doesn’t spare her wife a second glance as she moves right past her - maybe because she’s a different person now, or perhaps because it would hurt them both too much. “If he goes through the anomaly,” Raven says, pointing right at Murphy’s chest, “the Troubles go away. That’s how it works. It doesn’t matter when you do it - just that you have six months before you have to.”

Jaha, then, has told her everything about the Trouble cycle and how he fits into it. Still - he only knows all of this in theory. “I don’t even know where the ‘anomaly’ is, or how it works,” he says, which is true. “I didn’t even know I was responsible for this whole thing until a few days ago!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snaps, and Murphy thinks that he was right before - Raven  _ is  _ a completely different person. Learning about her family history, getting her Trouble and taking a life has changed her. She’d been happy and carefree when he had first met her, and now, the woman standing in front of him is anything but. There is nothing behind her eyes but decades and decades of pain, passed down like a broken family heirloom. “It’s on Arkadia island, and I’m here to take you there.”

He remembers that’s the name of the island where Jaha had originally taken him prisoner on - and where Charmaine Diyoza had given her life so that he could keep his. If she’d known the truth about him, that he was responsible for the horrible fate her daughter Hope met at the hand of the Troubles, maybe she would have chosen differently. 

“No way,” Bellamy cuts in. “He’s not going anywhere.” His hand suddenly on Murphy’s shoulder, ready to sacrifice everything to protect him at a moment’s notice. The gesture would be sweet, would it not for the fact that Murphy’s fresh off seeing him dead. There’s no way he’s letting that happen ever again. More importantly, Bellamy’s Troubled for real, meaning that his blood can activate Raven’s own Trouble. He, at least, has the safety of being needed alive.

Gently, Murphy removes Bellamy’s hand and moves forwards so that he’s back at his side, right in front of Raven. Emori is still somewhere behind her, yet to say a word. Regardless of what’s going to happen here on the docks, there’s something he wants to ask her, that’s been on his mind since her Trouble had been exposed and she’d chosen to stay with Jaha instead of her friends. “Tell me, Raven,” he asks, “why are you doing this?” 

“It’s what my family has always done,” comes the response, but it’s the least genuine thing she could have said. Sure, her Trouble must be terrifying to deal with, and knowing she’s responsible for Jasper’s death (and that of her own wife, however temporary it was) must weigh on her conscience like nothing else does, but that doesn’t explain why she would choose to carry out the bidding of a homicidal priest. Plus, when she’s talking to him, it’s truly not an excuse - he, too, has faced horrible revelations around his place in the universe, and he’s still trying to do good by this town. 

“No,” he says, “ _ why  _ are you doing this?” 

She bites her lip. The rain gently tapping against the wood of the docks is the only sound to be heard for a moment. “If the Troubles go away,” she finally responds, “then everything goes back to normal. It’s what we all want.” 

And there it is. Raven hasn’t necessarily said exactly what she means, but Murphy’s pretty good at reading between the lines. She  _ needs  _ the Troubles to go away, because if they do, she doesn’t have to face the horrible truths she’s found out about herself. She can go back to her wife, and her boat, and pretend that everything that’s gone on these past couple of weeks never actually happened. 

Now that he thinks about it, this must be exactly what Jaha wants, too. This is why he’s been able to manipulate her so well - they want the same thing. If the Troubles go away quickly this time, he, too, can pretend that he’s unaffected by them. He can return to his normal life and boast about how he overcame them, even if in reality, he’s one of the victims, too. 

The two of them, and most likely all of the Disciples that actually exist - they’re scared. They’re just scared. It doesn’t come close to excusing the bodies they’ve left behind in their wake and the suffering they’ve inflicted in the name of salvation, but on some core, human level, Murphy finds himself understanding them - and he isn’t sure he likes that. 

“I know,” he says, and he finds himself nodding in somewhat agreement with her. This is what he’s here for, isn’t it? If it’s true that he doesn’t have to wait six months to send the Troubles away, then it’s only selfish for him to wait. “I know. I’ll go with you.”

“Murphy!” Bellamy hisses, but it’s his turn to put out a hand and stop Bellamy from moving closer. Even after all this time, he can tell his touch and the sudden return of sensation is enough to surprise him. 

Raven nods, hesitantly, though there’s palpable relief behind her eyes. Maybe she expected this encounter to go far more violently, forcing her to use her abilities. He suspects that she’s going to hate herself for something she was born with for a very, very long time, and despite everything she’s done, this makes his heart hurt.  _ It’s not her fault, it’s Jaha’s,  _ he tries to remind himself, hoping that one day all of her friends will be able to come to the same conclusion. “Thank you,” she says. “We’ll take the  _ Rubicon.  _ I just-”

Suddenly, without warning, she cries out and doubles over, eyes squeezing shut in agonizing pain. Murphy and Bellamy both take a shocked step backwards, stunned. Her sudden shift in weight causes Raven’s bad leg to buckle and she collapses onto the docks, still screaming. 

Emori comes into view, now, and Murphy blinks in surprise, the cause of what’s just happened suddenly clear. Both her gloves are off and she’s got one hand on the small of Raven’s back. There are tears forming in her eyes as she keeps the contact, but as Raven continues to cry out, she lifts her other hand and gently places it on her neck. Instantly, Raven’s eyes roll back and she falls limp, her body finally giving out from the sudden influx of pain. 

“Emori,” Bellamy says, quietly, “why did you-”

“I’m not letting her hurt anybody else. It’s safer for everyone,” Emori whispers, staring down at her unconscious wife with nothing but sadness and regret. She’s already putting her gloves back on, clearly desperate to stifle her Trouble once more. “Just - go. Get out of here. I don’t know when she’ll wake up.”

Bellamy’s hesitant. “What about you?”

“Just  _ go!”  _ she snaps, fixing them with a fiery gaze that gives them more than enough cause to listen to her. Bellamy grabs Murphy’s hand as he turns and leaves, pulling him along with him, even as Murphy keeps looking back towards Raven, Emori, and the boat that could have led to Sanctum’s salvation, had everyone been willing to let him make a sacrifice just like the ones they’d all been making for him since he got here. 

If only everyone would just stop caring about him so much, this would be so, so much easier. 

* * *

Bellamy takes him back to his place without any argument from him. Not that he would have listened had Murphy try and argue it - during the whole walk there, Bellamy hadn’t said a word, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and his eyes narrow. Murphy chalks it up to him being upset over Raven’s presence at the docks, and doesn’t try to break the silence. Still, anything is better than going back to the hotel room he’d called home for the first few days here. He hasn’t forgotten how that room and his stay there was supposedly paid for by Zev, who also supposedly doesn’t exist. It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s also the least of his concerns. 

When they finally arrive at Bellamy’s small house, he can’t help but smile. He’s been here before, sure, but he hasn’t truly appreciated how quaint and charming it is. Like all the buildings in this town, it’s small, but the outside walls are painted a calming, soft yellow and several windchimes hang over the porch. As he walks up the three wooden steps leading up to Bellamy’s front door, he runs his fingers through one of the chimes, the sound of them filling the air. He thinks a gesture like this should be enough to make Bellamy smile, but the other man has already walked inside. 

With a shrug, he follows him in, gently closing the door behind him. The front room is full of books and all sorts of antique knick-knacks, and if he were there under any other circumstances, he’d spend hours going through all of them. It’s a space that so perfectly reflects Bellamy’s inner soul and he’s about to say so, when he looks over and sees how tense and tight Bellamy’s shoulders are. His whole body seems to be vibrating with anger, something that he’s never seen from him before. “Bell,” he says, softly, “what’s wrong?”

It’s not a great question to ask, he knows, because there’s  _ so  _ much wrong going on for all of them - but it’s enough to make Bellamy look at him. “What was that, back there?” he snaps, and only now Murphy realizes that Bellamy’s anger is directed at  _ him.  _

“What do you mean?” he asks, suddenly feeling very small. 

His eyes seem to narrow even more, and with every word, he comes closer and closer to Murphy until they’re standing only inches apart. “After everything that I have done, that  _ we  _ have done, you were just - going to go with her? You were just going to walk through the anomaly,  _ whatever  _ that means, and leave us all behind? You were just going to leave  _ me  _ behind, without a second thought?”

_ Oh.  _ That’s all he can think as he looks up at Bellamy, who is still standing right in front of him. He feels guilty for not having considered his choice from Bellamy’s point of view, but he knows that in the long run, if he  _ had  _ left, it would have been a favour to him. Sure, his Trouble doesn’t get anybody killed, but it’s still an affliction that he can take away from him - and he owes him that much. “I’m sorry,” is all he manages, because he  _ is,  _ even if it’s not the full story. He’s sorry, most of all, that he let Bellamy get attached to someone that isn’t here to stay. 

“I told you I love you,” comes the response, “and hours later, you’re willing to leave this all behind without another thought?”

“That’s not - come on, Bellamy, that’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it? Is that not what you did? Tell me, Murphy, were you  _ not  _ about to get on that boat with Raven and leave me standing on the docks, alone?”

It’s wrong of him to, but Murphy’s getting angry now as well, matching the fire in Bellamy’s eyes with one of his own. “If I leave through the anomaly, then everything goes back to normal for everybody! I can end the Troubles, Bellamy. That’s what I want. You should want that, too!” 

“You’re right,” comes the near-instant reply. “I should. I should want that, and it pisses me off that I don’t!” 

Murphy blinks, not expecting this admission. “You - You don’t?”

“I don’t,” Bellamy says. “I only want  _ you,  _ Murphy. I’ve only ever wanted you.” 

This tears Murphy’s heart in two, even if it’s not intended to, and before he can stop for a moment and think rationally about their situation he’s wrapping a hand around the back of Bellamy’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. All of their anger is shattered, the space it once took up filling back up only with love. For a moment, it’s easy enough to pretend that there’s nothing else going on in the world, and it’s just the two of them, and it always can be. 

“Just stay,” Bellamy whispers, ever so quietly, when they break apart for only a moment. “Just stay here with me. Please.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me that you’ll stay.”

“I promise,” he says, and he honestly isn’t sure if he’s telling the truth or not. He wants to be. He wants it to be as simple as just agreeing to this vow, and staying in this house for the rest of his life, with someone he loves next to him through it all - but it isn’t that easy for him. It never has been, even if he’s only realizing this now. 

It’s enough for Bellamy, though, and as he smiles and pulls him back into another kiss, Murphy knows he’s not strong enough to tell him otherwise. 

* * *

_ He dreams of the man in the mirror.  _

_ It can’t be a mirror, because the ‘reflection’ doesn’t match his movements, but he has no other explanation as to why the man he dreams of looks exactly like him. Somehow, he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s looking at himself, but also at somebody completely different. It’s like he’s looking at somebody that he  _ could  _ be, or that maybe he was, at one point in time, but he isn’t anymore.  _

_ “You’re still here,” Murphy says to the reflection, even though he doesn’t know where ‘here’ is, and he doesn’t think that he has anywhere else he’s allowed to go.  _

_ “So are you,” the reflection says, and though there’s some kind of invisible mirror separating them here, it feels as though they’re being drawn closer and closer together. “No matter. That will change, soon enough, and then this will all be over.” _

_ Murphy thinks he should be scared, especially given what happened last time he dreamt of this scene, but he’s only curious. “What will? What are you waiting for?” _

_ The reflection chuckles at this, as though he’s genuinely amused. “I forget that you know nothing. It’s no matter. No need for you to concern yourself with this.” _

_ “No, tell me,” Murphy pushes, coming closer to the reflection. Last time he did this he ended up trapped on the other side, but he feels no fear. “What is this place? Who are you? What did you do to get stuck here?” _

_ “And why is it,” the reflection says, “that you think this is any more than a dream, meant to be forgotten as soon as you wake?” _

_ “Maybe it is,” he replies, “or maybe it isn’t.” _

_ There’s a pause, and then he smiles at this response. “My, you really do get smarter each time we go through this, don’t you? Every cycle, it’s as though you learn a little bit more.” _

_ Murphy’s eyes widen. “Every cycle - you mean, the Troubles?” _

_ “I do. We’ve done this before, you and I, even if you cannot remember, and we will continue to do so, until I finally break free.” _

_ The area around them seems to darken at these words, but Murphy doesn’t back off, not yet. “Are you being punished? Is that why you’re trapped here, wherever this is?” _

_ The reflection rolls his eyes. “Never mind. Perhaps you aren’t very smart at all.” His image seems to grow blurry at the edges, as if he’s fading away into the shadows of the room.  _

_ “Wait!” Murphy calls, stepping forwards and holding out his hand until it lands flat on the surface of the mirror. As soon as his skin makes contact with the cold glass, he knows that this is a mistake. A freezing chill sweeps through him and he shivers violently. He tries to pull his hand back from the mirror, but he can’t. Some kind of invisible force is keeping his hand exactly where it is, and no matter how hard he pulls and cries out, he can’t move away.  _

_ A deep  _ roar  _ echoes around the room, filling Murphy’s chest with fear. He was a fool not to be afraid of whatever’s going on here. With hesitation, he blinks and looks at the mirror, expecting to see the reflection laughing at his predicament, but there’s nothing there at all. It’s still a mirror, but it no longer reflects his own image back at him. He’s simply staring into the void. The roar, deep and menacing, grows louder all around him.  _

_ “It’s a dream,” he whispers to himself, pushing his eyes shut, trying to force himself to wake up. “It’s just a dream. It’s not real.” When he says the words, though, he knows somehow they’re not true. He doesn’t know how, or why, but he’s deeply certain that whatever’s going on  _ is  _ happening to him.  _

_ And then - the roar sounds off right next to his ear and a yell falls out of his mouth before he can stop it. His hand stays stuck fast to the mirror but if he could he’d curl in on himself. Murphy’s terrified. He’s never felt fear like this, and he almost starts to sob, his eyes flying back open as the sound comes right next to his ear once more.  _

_ His reflection is no longer in the mirror, but standing right next to him, the very source of the inhuman roar he keeps hearing. “Pathetic,” he snaps from beside him, and Murphy tries to move his head to look at him, but finds he can’t. It’s not due to the fear that threatens to consume him - try as he might, every single one of his muscles is locked, just like his hand. He’s trapped, completely at the reflection’s mercy.  _

_ Murphy tries to cry, to do anything, but nothing happens. Tears that should be forming don’t fall, and as he stares at the mirror that was blank moments before, an image of himself forms in its glass. He watches, prisoner in his own body, as the expression of pure terror on his face falls away and his eyes become completely blank and void of any emotion. The fear is still boiling over inside of him and he’s screaming in his mind to do something,  _ anything,  _ but absolutely none of this shows.  _

_ And then -  _

_ His reflection moves his hand away from the glass and down to his side, and Murphy follows suit. He hadn’t tried to make this movement happen, though, it had simply occurred without his consent. With horror, the truth of what’s happened becomes clear to him. He’s no longer staring at a reflection with a mind of its own - he’s  _ become  _ the reflection of somebody else.  _

_ “Get used to this,” the man in the mirror says. His voice sounds identical to Murphy’s, and when he speaks, Murphy is forced to mime the movements on his own lips, but no sound comes from his throat. “This is all you are. Without me, you don’t exist, and one day - this will all be mine again.” _

_ The man moves away, then, and Murphy moves with him, until he’s gone from view of the mirror entirely. With no one there to demand a reflection’s presence, Murphy becomes enveloped by the shadows, slowly fading out of existence entirely.  _

_ He does not speak. He does not cry. He only listens with a dimming mind as a man with his face and voice laughs, somewhere in the distance, and Murphy’s left to the mercy of the void, as if he never really existed at all.  _

* * *

Murphy wakes with a silent cry, bolting upright as his heart races in his chest. The dream - or, nightmare, rather - plays over and over in his mind, and it takes him several minutes to even attempt to calm down. The fear he’d felt is something he’s never experienced, not even during all his time in Sanctum, and it’s a feeling he would never wish on his worst enemy. 

Once his mind clears slightly and it’s easier to draw breath into his trembling body, his surroundings return to him. It’s sometime during the middle of the night, and he’s in bed, with Bellamy next to him. Even though he can’t make out all his features in the darkness, it’s peaceful to watch him in his sleep. Sitting in silence, knowing that Bellamy’s right beside him, and that he’s happy for the moment, helps him completely calm down from what he’s just experienced. 

Now that he has some peace of mind, he thinks over the events of that dream, and the similar one he’d had before it. He truly doesn’t know how he knows this, but he’s sure that they are more than just dreams. His mind is trying to tell him something, and so is the man in the mirror he keeps talking to. Murphy remembers that he’d mentioned the Trouble cycle, and knowing what he knows about his own role in that, he’s sure that his mind is telling him what has to be done. 

_ This is all you are. Without me, you don’t exist,  _ the man had said. It’s more than just an insult, Murphy realizes, his eyes widening. He’d already figured out that on his own, he wasn’t a real person - he simply appeared when the Troubles came. But the cycle has been going on for centuries, and if what he’s been told and what he’s learned is true, a version of him that looks  _ exactly  _ like him comes to Sanctum each and every time the Troubles do. There might be hundreds of past lives that he’s lived, spanning back throughout history to when the Troubles first arrived. All of this had to start somewhere. He doesn’t know when, or why, but there has to be a  _ reason  _ that this happens to him. 

His stomach twists as he comes to the only conclusion that makes any sense. The man in the mirror, the one plaguing his dreams, is his original self. He’d gone on and on, in both dreams, about being trapped, and how one day he’d ‘break free.’ Since both dreams had ended with Murphy himself being the one trapped, it stands to reason that the man in the mirror is trying to break free from  _ him.  _ Perhaps this is the punishment that contains him - he’s trapped in his own mind, forced to watch as his body lives different lives, only to vanish and do it all over again twenty-two years later. 

Not only is Murphy not real, then - he’s a glorified cage. 

It doesn’t make sense, though. This theory leaves so many questions up in the air. It doesn’t explain who this original person is, or why they’re trapped in this cycle the way they are, or what the purpose of his punishment even is. Still - the thought of this even being partly true is enough to make Murphy’s skin crawl. This isn’t right. Moreover, it’s not  _ fair,  _ to him, or the potential person who is literally trapped in his own mind. 

He almost laughs at this. How is it, exactly, that he got here? How is it possible that the thought of his original reincarnation being trapped in his own mind doesn’t even faze him anymore? 

Bellamy’s still sound asleep next to him, and as Murphy looks over at him once more, he feels a deep sadness in his chest. Sure, he’d made a promise to stay, but - he knows very well that he can’t. There’s no world in which him staying will give Bellamy any joy in the long run. Sure, if he disappears without saying goodbye he’ll be sad and angry for a bit, but then he’ll get to go on and live his life, and meet a whole new version of Murphy twenty-two years later. 

He’s brought this town nothing but pain. The image of Miller’s angry eyes as he shouts  _ what did you do?  _ He thinks of Lexa, so deeply sad that she still has yet to stop the rain, and Clarke’s heavy melancholy behind her eyes. He thinks of Monty’s deep despair at the murder of his husband, and Echo’s lifeless body as she gave everything to save those who never should have died in the first place, and he thinks of the image of Emori and Raven on the docks, the damage done to them both so intense he doesn’t know if they’ll ever truly be happy again. 

He thinks of Bellamy, and though it hurts, he knows he’s making the right decision. “I love you,” he whispers, and then adds an “I’m sorry.” Then, he gets out of bed, and he leaves him behind. 

* * *

It’s not hard to find Raven. He doubts that Emori’s considered the possibility of someone other than herself setting her free, so she hasn’t exactly taken precautions. Darkness covers his movements as he slowly boards the  _ Rubicon,  _ bending down in front of Raven, whose wrists are tied to the mast of the boat itself. 

“Murphy?” she whispers in surprise as she sees who has come. Quickly, he holds a finger to his lips, and she falls silent. Without saying anything else, he pulls out a small knife that he’d stolen from Bellamy’s kitchen when he left, and cuts through the rope. It takes him longer than he likes, but he doesn’t hear anyone coming towards them. Emori’s most likely below deck, sleeping during the hours where no one would come and try to steal her wife away yet again. Murphy tells himself that she’ll be fine - after all, Raven gets to come back when all this is said and done. 

Slowly and silently, the two move off of the  _ Rubicon’s  _ deck and back down to the docks below. “We need a boat,” he whispers to Raven, gesturing at one of the others in the harbour. He knows that all of these belong to somebody, and that they shouldn’t take any one of them, but again - it’s a temporary measure.

Raven nods, and before long she’s gesturing him over to a small white boat near the other end of the dock. It takes him a moment before he realizes it’s Finn’s - the very same one that he’d investigated when the Disciples had taken him hostage. This is enough to nearly make him burst into laughter, but he holds it together and gets on board, letting Raven do the work of getting the motor started. 

If their movement away from the harbour wakes anyone up, Murphy tells himself it doesn’t matter - they’re already on their way. Even if someone tries to follow them, they have the head start, and he can make it through the anomaly before they even have a chance to stop him. This allows him to relax slightly, and he lets out a breath, knowing that the hard work is over. Sure, he’s about to stop existing in a matter of minutes, but at least he’ll have done the right thing. 

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” Raven says, once she’s comfortably sailing and can take some of her attention away from the task at hand. 

“I didn’t, actually,” he says, which makes her raise an eyebrow. “I mean - I was always going to do this.”

This catches her off guard, slightly, but then she nods. “I know you said you would come with me, earlier,” she says, “but I honestly thought you were lying.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Jaha said-”

He rolls his eyes, cutting her off. “Oh, who  _ cares  _ about what Jaha says?”

Raven bites her lip, returning her attention to the coastline of Arkadia island, that’s moving closer by the second. “He’s been right about everything so far, hasn’t he?” 

“He calls you an angel,” Murphy points out, “and he says that I’m the devil. Do you really think he’s right about that?”

“Not at all,” she says, quickly, as if she’s already been thinking about that very point - and Murphy suspects she very well might have been. “I think he got the roles mixed up.” 

This is not what he’d expected her to say. “What do you mean?”

“I’m no angel, Murphy,” she says, and even though she’s shrouded in darkness, he can almost see how her eyes fill with sorrow. “But the devil? Yeah, I could make that argument.” 

“Raven-”

“We can both take away the Troubles,” she continues on, “only, I have to kill people to do it. I just - I’m trying to do what I was born to do, but without the murder, okay? I’m sorry that it means you have to sacrifice, but I can’t just stand by and do nothing when I know that you have the ability to make them go away without hurting anyone. Besides - you come back in twenty-two years, right? That’s true, isn’t it?”

There’s a lot he wants to say to that, but he simply nods. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“So then - you’re basically immortal, aren’t you? So it doesn’t really hurt you, either.”

It’s a justification and an excuse all in one, but he doesn’t have the heart to argue with all of that, not when she’s so clearly hurting and he’s going to follow through anyways. “It’s not about immortality,” he says, quietly. “Just - morality, I guess.” 

“Morality,” she repeats, sighing. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Never mind about that,” he says, “just - are you absolutely  _ sure  _ that I don’t have to wait six months to do this? Isn’t that always what happened every other time the Troubles came to Sanctum? They were there for six months?”

Raven takes a deep breath, nodding. “Jaha told me,” she begins, and though Murphy nearly rolls his eyes at the priest’s name once again, he doesn’t cut her off this time, “that the anomaly opens on its own after six months. He said that it’s like - you, or whoever you are at that point, are literally drawn to it. He told me that once it opens on its own, after six months, you aren’t given a choice. Somehow, the anomaly would force you to enter.”

The thought of having his free will taken away almost sends him back to thinking about the dream he’d had only an hour or so ago, and it makes his stomach turn. “I wouldn’t even get a choice?”

Raven sighs. “Apparently. Jaha said that last time, twenty-two years ago, people tried to stop the previous you from going. His name was Alex, and they’d locked him up in a basement somewhere to stop him from leaving. Supposedly, right when the anomaly opened, he ripped through his restraints and just swam from the dock to the island. They tried to shoot at him, even, to stop him from going, but he just took the bullet wounds and kept on going. Nobody ever saw him again.”

Murphy’s silent for a few minutes, taking this in. He wonders what it had felt like for Alex, when he’d fallen victim to the universe’s whims. Really, he’d already known he was just a tool for some higher power, but hearing it like this makes him feel sick. Maybe, truly, he’s never had any free will at all. “We don’t have to wait for it to come to that,” he says, “right?” 

She nods. “Jaha told me that only you can open the anomaly earlier, if you choose to. He said that all you have to do is want to enter it willingly. Just - every time you’ve been here before, that we know of, you’ve never chosen to, or you weren’t aware of the possibility.”

If this is the case, he isn’t sure how exactly Jaha’s learned of this possibility, but he doesn’t argue. “Okay,” he says. “That’s what we’ll do, then. One problem, though - I don’t know how to open the anomaly. I don’t even know what that  _ means. _ ”

Raven takes a deep breath, looking back at him as the boat nears the coastline. “Well,” she says, “I know where it is, if that helps. We can go from there.”

“Sure,” he sighs, because he doesn’t really have another option. The moon above them washes the boat in an eerie glow and he leans back, lifting his face to the open sky, taking in as much of the world before he’s removed completely from it. 

* * *

As it turns out, the anomaly is nothing but a large, floating stone. 

Raven’s led him through the jungle of the island to a wide open clearing that he hadn’t seen before on his first visit to the island. They’re right at the edge of the wall of fog, so that he can see where it begins and cuts through the sky. The moonlight above them is obscured by the fog, scattering its glow and that of the stars. 

Close to the edge of the large clearing of trees is a large bronze stone that quite literally hovers above the ground. He waves a hand through the area below it, expecting to find some kind of invisible stand, but he’s met only with air. “That’s interesting,” he mutters, standing back and looking at the stone in more detail. It resembles an orb, but it’s also hollow, as some of the sides seem to curl in on each other and form a complex spiral shape. All across the metal surface are small symbols, none of which he recognizes. 

“This is the anomaly,” Raven says, gesturing to the stone and the clearing at large. “Jaha didn’t tell me anything else, I’m sorry, but I know this is where it happens.” 

“Great,” Murphy sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “A giant floating stone is supposed to help me enter the ‘anomaly’ and end the Troubles. Absolutely fantastic.”

Raven looks at the stone, drawing her fingers across the surface. “Maybe the symbols mean something?” 

She’s trying to be helpful, but all he feels is annoyance. After all, she’s the one who was so set on bringing him here and forcing him to sacrifice himself. Now, she truly expects him to just figure this out for himself? “Why didn’t Jaha tell you about this part, too?” he snaps. “You know, since you and him are such good friends.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, very, very quietly. 

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated not only at her, but at himself. “Maybe it’s not,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t change the fact that three of our friends  _ died  _ because you chose to stay with him.”

Raven doesn’t say anything to this, but as it turns out, she doesn’t have to. Another voice fills the clearing, one that he knows all too well at this point. “The blood of the damned must be cleansed,” Jaha says, strolling into the field and emerging from the trees, “one way or another.” 

“It’s so interesting that you say so,” Murphy fires back, “seeing as your blood is  _ just  _ as ‘damned’ as theirs.” 

For a moment, Jaha falters. He views his Trouble as his greatest weakness, clearly, even if he’s been able to utilize it to gain power in the town. “I suppose,” he says, recovering his calm demeanour as quickly as possible as he slowly walks around the clearing to come closer to them, “that your actions here tonight will cleanse my soul, as well.” 

It’s as close as he’s ever come to admitting the truth about himself, but Murphy’s not done yet. The priest is responsible for the deaths of his friends and all of his own suffering. Besides - pretty soon, he won’t exist anymore to face any retaliation, and they can’t kill him. “Tell me,” he says, “did you give your son your Trouble? Did it get him killed? Is that why you are the way you are?”

Back when Jaha had first taken him hostage, he’d told him that  _ the plague had killed his son,  _ and as he watches the priest pale and stagger back Murphy knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “Don’t talk about my son,” he manages, though even getting this sentence out is clearly a struggle for him. 

Murphy thinks he probably should back off, but he holds no remorse or guilt when it’s Jaha who is the victim of his words. Even Raven, who has made her allegiances clear enough, doesn’t object. “Maybe if you’d just admitted you had a Trouble, and if you’d taught your son about how it works, he’d still be alive,” he says. “Maybe it’s not the Troubles that killed him, but  _ you _ and your negligence. Have you ever thought of that?” 

“No,” Jaha stammers out, standing still halfway across the clearing, not daring to come any closer. As he trembles, various figures come in and out of focus. The Disciples that are all figments of Jaha’s Trouble and imagination flicker into view, all of them standing in a circle that completely surrounds them, but they’re hazy at best and none of them move even a muscle. 

“I didn’t think so,” Murphy snaps, turning his attention away from the priest and back to the stone. There’s a secret here that he’s missing, clearly.  _ All you have to do is want to enter it willingly,  _ Raven had said back on the boat, and as he mulls over the words a sudden idea forms in his mind. 

He stares at the stone, gently placing a hand on its surface. It shouldn’t feel like anything but cold metal, but as soon as his skin makes contact, a spark of electricity bounces up and he quickly draws his hand away. “What was that?” Raven asks, eyes wide. Nothing like that had happened when she’d touched the stone. 

“I think,” Murphy says, slowly, “it reacted to me, somehow.”

“Only you can open it,” she adds, nodding slowly. “I don’t know how, but somehow, it  _ knows  _ you’re here.”

Hesitantly, he nods, and then he reaches out again. He’s ready for the feeling this time, though, and manages to keep his hand flat on the stone. After the initial shock is over, it seems to grow warm beneath his touch and it’s almost as if it’s vibrating at its very core, sending this feeling up Murphy’s arm and into his chest, melding in with the beating of his heart. 

The longer he keeps his hand there, the more intense this feels until - it all settles. He’s still making contact, but it feels almost natural, as if the stone is nothing more than an extension of himself. Ever since learning the truth about himself, his mind has seldom ever slowed, but now it calms and he can’t help but smile. The stone is the most powerful thing he’s ever come into contact with - yet somehow, it’s just as powerful as himself. 

He leans his head back, closing his eyes, and then - he’s somewhere else entirely. 

_ It’s the oddest feeling that overtakes him, but one that he also feels deeply familiar with. No longer is Murphy tied down to the physical plane, or his body, or any of his concerns that once seemed important. Rather, it’s as though he’s completely tied into the framework of the universe itself. The stars seem to be but trivial beings of light as he rises above them, his mind opening and expanding and becoming what it was always meant to be.  _

_ He thinks, once, a very long time ago, he felt like this, but - it’s been millennia since he reached his full potential. As he lets out a breath, he finds he doesn’t need to take in another one. He’s not restricted by mortal flesh any longer. His eyes remain closed, but he doesn’t need them to see - as he thinks over all the lives he’s lived, flashes of memory from each of them cycle through his mind, and though he isn’t sure why, he finds great comfort in knowing that they’re all over, now.  _

_ He’s free, now. Murphy’s free.  _

_ Except - as he thinks about his name, he knows that it’s wrong. He’s not Murphy. He’s never  _ been  _ Murphy. That’s only the name of his most recent life, the one who is still in charge of the physical body he’s left somewhere far below him. Murphy’s not real.  _

_ No, his name is - his real name is -  _

_ It’s like the memory of who he’s meant to be is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite reach it. He knows that he was more, once, and he knows that it was taken away from him. He knows that he’s spent thousands of years wrongfully trapped in a cage, imprisoned from everything that he knows, but something is still blocking him. Something’s tethering him to the prison he’s not yet free from, and he wails, a silent sound ringing out amidst the stars.  _

_ And then he hears it. A voice calls out to him, from somewhere far away, so much so that he can barely hear it.  _ Come back to me,  _ it says, the words enough to bring him peace though he isn’t sure why.  _

I want to,  _ he says, words vanishing into the void.  _ I want to. I need you to show me how. 

All you have to do is want to,  _ the voice says, so patient, and so, so kind. Vaguely, he thinks that he recognizes its source, but it’s as if it comes from the memory of a life he’s already forgotten.  _

_ He wants to go with its owner. He wants to rise higher and higher, but the thought of something, or someone, keeps him stuck where he is. There’s a promise that he made. That can’t be true, because he doesn’t remember making one, but it’s playing on repeat in his mind. There’s a promise that he made, even if it feels like he did so a long time ago, and it’s important that he try to keep it.  _

_ Then - he remembers. He promised Bellamy he’d stay. He promised Bellamy he’d stay because he’s Murphy, and he loves Bellamy, and that’s all that matters. He has to believe that’s all that matters, and why can’t it be? Why can’t that be the truth? Why can’t -  _

Murphy blinks, his concentration suddenly shattered as he comes back to himself, ripping his hand off the stone as soon as he’s able to. The memory of what just happened is already slipping out of his mind, but he thinks he remembers hearing a voice that, if he didn’t know better, he’d say belonged to his former imaginary boss, Zev - but that’s not possible. He lets out a breath, shaking his head to clear it, and seconds later he’s forgotten every single thing that happened when he’d touched the stone. 

A ray of light shines in his eyes and he squints, looking up at the sky. “Wasn’t it just the middle of the night?” he says, feeling only confusion as he witnesses what has to be the first rays of the morning sun. 

He looks around the clearing, then, realizing that  _ way  _ more time has passed than he thought. Raven’s a little ways away, leaning against the trunk of a tree at the edge of the clearing, and Jaha’s sitting on the grass, looking completely defeated. A few imaginary Disciples that he’s conjured up linger around them, but they fade in and out of existence faster than he can even look at them. 

“Did you make any progress?” Raven asks, glancing up at him when he speaks. 

“What?”

She narrows her eyes, looking at him in confusion and standing up straight, slowly coming over towards him. “You spaced out for, like,  _ hours.  _ I shook your shoulders, called your name - nothing.”

He blinks, completely unsure how he could have lost so much time. “I - I don’t know. I just touched it, like, seconds ago.”

“No, you didn’t,” she says, gesturing at the sun rising above them. “Did nothing really happen for you?”

Murphy pauses, trying to recall what had happened, but he’s got nothing except a blank in his memory - except for one thing.  _ All you have to do is want to,  _ rings through his mind. It sounds as if Zev is speaking the words, but he knows that isn’t true - Zev isn’t a real person, much like himself. 

It’s the biggest hail mary he’s ever tried, but he takes a breath, and then fixes his gaze on the stone. “I want to open the anomaly,” he says. “I want to end the Troubles.” 

For a moment, nothing happens, and he’s left only with Raven staring at him quizzically. Then - a handful of symbols on the bronze stone begin to glow, far brighter than the moon or the sun, so brightly that he has to shield his eyes. “What?” Raven asks, looking completely unbothered by the development. “What do you see?”

He points at the symbols that are glowing, though she doesn’t seem to register them at all. “You don’t see that?” he asks, trying again to get her to understand. 

She only shrugs. “No, I don’t see anything.”

Murphy knows he’s connected to the stone, somehow, but he’s beginning to think it might be in a far bigger way than he ever imagined. Still, he’s come this far, and he’s still got his end goal in mind. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand towards the glowing symbol closest to him, only - it’s like he can’t touch it. He narrows his eyes, using more force, but his hand shifts without him trying to, until he’s hovering above one of the other symbols that’s also glowing. 

“Alright,” he mutters, “fine - this one, then.” This time it’s easy. He presses down on the symbol, and it moves downwards with a  _ click _ , as if it were just a simple button. Now, he tries to think about it less. Clearly, the answer to the puzzle that is the stone is buried somewhere deep within his mind, so he tries to let his forgotten memories do the talking and he lets them move his hand for him once again, until he’s hovering above yet another glowing symbol that he presses on. 

He does this for all seven symbols that are glowing, and when he pushes the last one down, the entire stone starts to glow. Now, Raven has to shield her eyes as well, taken aback by the sudden change. “You see it now?” he asks, and she only nods, looking completely stunned at what’s happening in front of her. He can’t blame her for that - he’s not sure he understands any of this. 

And then - the anomaly opens. 

It happens so suddenly that if he had blinked, he would have missed it. The air around them suddenly picks up and moves faster, as if it’s all being pulled towards one central spot. It twists, for a moment, and he thinks it’s going to form a tornado, until there’s a blinding flash and the air becomes - green. Murphy doesn’t know how else to explain it, but suddenly right in front of him, completely out of nowhere, is a giant green vortex. It seems to move with the air and the edges of it shift significantly. The center of it is slightly darker than the rest, and this part of it is stable. Somehow, he knows that right there, at the center of the anomaly, is the spot he’s meant to enter. 

“It’s beautiful,” Raven whispers. He supposes that it must be, and maybe he would think the same thing, if it weren’t the vehicle that would deliver him to his demise. 

As soon as he walks into this thing, he’s going to cease to exist. He’s going to reset the cycle, for twenty-two years, and he’s going to take the Troubles with him - at least, he hopes that’s what will happen. It hurts him to think about, but his resolve is strong, and he knows he’s doing what has to be done.  _ It’s about morality,  _ he’d told Raven, and he’d meant it. Now, it’s time to stay true to his word.

He takes a step towards it. Its brilliant glow soaks into his skin as he moves closer, and though he can’t explain it, it’s like he’s being pulled closer and closer to it. The first step had been difficult, but the next few are easy. He’s  _ meant  _ to walk into the anomaly. This was always going to happen. He’s supposed to be here. He’s - 

“Murphy! Stop!”

Immediately, he turns, eyes falling on Bellamy’s form racing closer and closer to him. Emori’s close behind, though she stays at the outskirts of the clearing, a silver gun in her hand. The two of them must have realized what happened when both he and Raven were missing, and taken the  _ Rubicon  _ to follow them. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he says. Even though Jaha’s alone, he’s still a threat, and Bellamy’s in danger. 

This doesn’t deter him in the slightest. Bellamy sprints across the clearing until he’s right in front of him, grabbing onto Murphy’s hand and holding it tight. Despite the giant vortex that defies all laws of physics hanging in the air right behind them, Bellamy doesn’t look at anything but Murphy. “I should have known you’d do this,” he says. 

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” Murphy says, still feeling the pull of the anomaly behind him, but he keeps his feet firmly planted. “I have to do this. I can help everyone.”

“You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met,” Bellamy whispers, “but it doesn’t have to be this way. We have time left. We can figure out another solution.”

They don’t have time left, but - for a moment, Murphy gives into the consideration that maybe they do. Maybe there is another solution, one he hasn’t thought of. He’s already learned so much more today than he ever thought he would, so - maybe he’s right. Maybe they can have the life that they both want, and save the town, and all of their friends. 

Maybe he doesn’t have to go. 

“Okay,” he whispers, even though the pull of the anomaly seems to grow stronger as he makes his decision. “Okay. I’m sorry, I just - okay. I’ll stay.” 

“Okay,” Bellamy says right back, and he smiles, and he’s about to pull Murphy out of the grip of the anomaly and back to his home,  _ their  _ home, when the gun goes off. 

Instantly, Bellamy’s hand is torn out of his as he staggers back from the impact. Blood’s blossoming on his shoulder and though he can’t feel it, and though it’s not necessarily a fatal shot like last time, it’s enough to slow him down as he tries to regain his footing. Murphy cries out, looking over to where the shot came from - to where Jaha stands, holding a gun of his very own. He was a fool, earlier, to think Jaha would come to this encounter unarmed. 

There’s another shot, but this one isn’t from the priest. No - Emori’s responsible for this one, and her aim is true, as it hits the dead center of Jaha’s forehead. As if all his strings are cut, the taller man falls to the ground, completely lifeless. All of the Disciples who had been standing frozen around them vanish from view. 

The anomaly pulls at Murphy, yet again, and he almost begins to weep as he knows what has to happen. He’d had a moment of weakness, a moment where his resolve had broken, and Bellamy had almost been killed. He’s still wounded, and this will only happen again, and again, and again, until one day he dies and doesn’t come back. 

Murphy’s responsible for all of this. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, stepping backwards until the anomaly is right at his back, sliding its green tendrils around his body. 

“No!” Bellamy calls out. His inability to feel pain allows him to recover quicker than he should from the shot and he lunges forwards, once again grabbing Murphy’s hand in his own, but it’s different than before. The anomaly is too strong for either of them. He’s far too close to ever escape. 

The memory of their first meeting plays in his mind, and Murphy smiles sadly, remembering the book Bellamy had been reading when he’d nearly been run over by a car -  _ Romeo and Juliet.  _ Murphy’s never read the play in this life, but the words flow effortlessly off his tongue. “Parting,” he says, “such sweet sorrow, right?” 

“Don’t go,” Bellamy begs, shaking his head, pulling desperately at Murphy’s hand, but he’s not strong enough. “Please, don’t leave me here.” 

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it isn’t anywhere close to it. “Don’t you worry, Bellamy. I’ll be back. You’ll see me again in twenty-two years, right?” 

He’s pulled even further back, so much so that the only part of him that hasn’t entered the anomaly is his hand, still desperately being clutched onto by Bellamy. The anomaly is invading his vision, so he can only somewhat see the other man. Even so, he does his best to latch onto the memory of him, never wanting to lose this moment. 

Their unwavering grip on each other begins to slip. This movement sends a pang of desperation through Murphy’s chest, suddenly unwilling to let his love leave him. “I don’t want to go,” he whispers, and he means it, even though he knows he has to. He doesn’t know who he’s appealing to, but he figures he might as well try again, calling out to the anomaly, “Please, don’t make me go. I don’t want to. I don’t want to go!”

It’s of no use. “Murphy!” Bellamy calls one more time, and then he’s gone from his view entirely. 

“Such sweet sorrow,” Murphy whispers. His last sensation of the world he’s leaving behind is that of Bellamy’s fingers slipping through his own, and then, he’s gone entirely. 

* * *

He opens his eyes to a white room. 

Everything around him is that one colour, from the walls, to the ceiling and floor. Slowly, he turns in a full circle, but he sees nothing else around him. Maybe this should cause him fear, in that he doesn’t know where he is, but he doesn’t feel afraid in the slightest. 

A door opens in front of him, and a man enters, closing the door behind him as he approaches. He seems vaguely familiar, but he’s not sure where he recognizes him from. “Hello,” the man says. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, not so soon.”

He’s not sure what this means, but he only nods. “Hello,” he says. The man is smiling, and that is enough to bring him peace of mind. 

“Now,” the man says, “can you tell me your name?”

He thinks on this, for a moment, but after a while, he comes up empty. Slowly, he blinks, searching through his memory to find anything at all, but he’s only drawing a blank. It doesn’t really matter to him that he doesn’t remember anything, though - the harder he thinks about it, the less any of it seems to matter. “I don’t know,” he says, looking back up at the man. When he admits to this, the man’s smile seems to falter slightly, and his eyes grow sad. “I’m sorry,” he adds, not wanting to be the cause of the man’s sadness. 

“Don’t be,” the man says, quickly, his easy smile coming back onto his face. “What was done to you was not your fault.”

This, too, doesn’t make much sense to him. “Okay,” is all he says, though, any thoughts of dissent or discomfort falling right out of his mind as soon as he thinks them, until he can’t remember anything but this blanket of peace that seems to surround him. It’s easy, he thinks, not knowing. He can’t imagine why on earth he’d ever  _ want  _ to know more than this. 

The man nods. “Come. My name is Zev, and I’m going to help you remember what was taken from you.”

_ Zev.  _ The name rings through his mind, and he swears he’s heard it before, but he isn’t sure where. “Okay,” he says, again. 

“Great,” Zev says. “Follow me, and we’ll begin.” With this, he walks forwards, opening the door and holding it for him. 

There’s a moment of hesitation where he thinks he should stay.  _ Parting, such sweet sorrow,  _ suddenly rings through his mind, and his eyes widen, knowing that it means something. He’s supposed to be somewhere. There’s something important that he - 

And then it’s gone, the peaceful buzz filling his mind and washing away anything else that might have ever been there. “Okay,” he says, and he walks out the door. The hesitation that he’d just felt now feels silly to him. He can’t imagine a single reason why he wouldn’t listen to Zev. 

The door clicks shut behind him. Zev leads him down the hallway and away from the room, and not once does he look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a long one!!!! and also a bit of a.....shift.....haha. i can say that almost everything in the fic so far has led up to this chapter, and while all is not necessarily revealed, it will be sooner than you think. so. i hope that it worked out the way i wanted to and i hope you enjoyed this one!!!! big thanks to everyone leaving me nice words in the comments it really means more than i could ever hope to convey in a single end note so. thank you.


	12. time that takes in trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Even such is time, that takes in trust  
> Our youth, our joys, our all we have,  
> And pays us but with earth and dust."

He learns that his name is Daniel Lee. 

At least, it  _ was,  _ once upon a time. Now, it means nothing to him, sparking exactly zero recognition no matter how many times he quietly repeats it. He’s already come to terms with the fact that he knows nothing of who he is or where he’s been all this time - but if he’s honest, he was hoping that his name would jumpstart his memory, and he’d finally know why every word he says results in a deep sadness creeping into Zev’s eyes. 

Zev’s always sad. He learns this quickly. Even as he led him away from the white room he’d woken up in and into yet another white room with a long rectangular table, complete with two chairs across from each other that they both sat down in, there’s a definite shine in his eyes that betrays his hurt. Everything he says, he says kindly, but his voice sounds tired. 

That’s another thing that he can’t quite understand - when Zev speaks, he swears he’s heard the voice before. It’s impossible, of course, but he can’t shake the nagging feeling that he  _ knows  _ him, from a very long time ago. This alone gives him hope that his memories aren’t gone for good, and that one day, he will remember exactly who he is, beyond a name that means nothing to him. Maybe then, Zev won’t be so sad. Maybe then he won’t have this feeling that he’s letting someone down by being here and not knowing the truth. 

“Daniel?” Zev asks, softly. There’s no one else around them, and no sound can be heard save for his words, but he still says everything quietly as if he’s scared of being overheard. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he replies, maybe too quickly.

Zev’s not convinced. “It looks like your mind is elsewhere.” 

“No, I just-,” he begins to say, but then he trails off, not entirely sure what  _ is  _ on his mind. Somewhat dryly, he supposes absolutely nothing is, but this is bothering him more and more. The peaceful, pleasant buzz that he’d felt before is long gone. Now, he’s only getting frustrated at what he can’t remember - somehow, he’s  _ sure  _ the memories of the life he’s forgotten are still there, but he’s blocked from accessing them. 

“It’s alright,” Zev says, that sad smile still on his face. “Take as long as you need.” 

The words, seemingly harmless, send a chill down his spine and then - 

_ He’s standing on a cliff’s edge, overlooking the water. Fog swirls all around him. “I think I need to take a leave,” he’s saying into the phone. Wind whips through his hair and strikes his skin, but he doesn’t feel the cold. There’s a deep feeling of melancholy in his chest, but also determination - as if for the first time in his life, he knows exactly where he’s meant to be and what he’s meant to do.  _

“Hey.”

The thought shatters and he blinks, the surroundings of the white room coming back to him. Zev’s eyes are full of concern, and he’s leaning forwards, hands clasped tensely on the table in front of him. “Sorry,” he says, not sure what he’s apologizing for. Instead, he thinks about the scene that he just saw, clear as day in his mind’s eye. Truthfully, he’s expecting the picture to fade away just as quickly as it had come, but it doesn’t. It feels as though he was  _ there,  _ experiencing that very moment, and very hesitantly, he thinks that maybe this is what memory feels like. 

Zev shakes his head. “Don’t worry,” he says. “What happened to you, there?”

“I think,” he says, slowly, “I remembered something.” 

The other man’s eyes go wide and he takes in a sharp breath. “You did?” he whispers, somehow completely incredulous at this rather simple declaration. 

“Yeah,” he says, and he’s about to tell him exactly what he saw, when something inside him stops himself from doing so. It’s not that he  _ can’t  _ say the words - it’s that he’s sure it would be a bad idea. He doesn’t know why this would be the case, but he also doesn’t know a whole lot of anything these days it seems, so instead he opts for a simpler explanation. “I think that we’ve met before,” he finishes, looking right into Zev’s eyes as he does. It’s not technically a lie. The flash of memory he’s just felt is connected to Zev, somehow, even if he’s not exactly sure how. 

At this, Zev’s entire demeanour changes. He cries out, lifting his head up to the air as tears start to form in his eyes. “Oh, thank you,” he says, seemingly talking to the ceiling. “Thank you! It’s finally happening. It’s really finally happening, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand,” he says, suddenly far more confused than before. “What’s happening?”

“Our punishment, Daniel,” Zev says, turning his eyes back to him, “is finally ending.” 

To this, he only blinks. “What do you mean?”

The other man pauses, and then nods in a newfound determination, sitting up straight in his chair. He waves a hand before he says anything else, and somehow when he does so, two cups of hot tea appear on the table, one in front of each of them. Zev is unfazed by this as he picks up his cup, gesturing for him - for  _ Daniel  _ \- to do the same. 

“I don’t understand,” he says, still looking suspiciously at the tea that wasn’t there only seconds ago. “How did you-”

“Our gifts here are limited,” Zev responds nonchalantly, “but simple things such as this are easy. You’ll learn this, too, once you remember everything.” 

He’s pretty sure that he won’t, but he nods slowly, anyways. Out of everything that’s been happening to him since he got to this place, he supposes that magical cups of tea aren’t exactly at the top of the list. “Okay,” he agrees, taking the path of least resistance, and gently he picks up the tea with both hands. A faint citrus aroma fills the air and then - 

_ He’s in bed, comfortable, warm, and safe. There’s a mug in his hands and a nightstand with a photograph of a young girl and several books piled onto it next to him. He’s in the room of someone that he cares about, deeply, and he doesn’t want to leave. Never before in his life has he ever felt so loved as he does in this moment.  _

This time, he’s able to snap back from the sudden onslaught of memory before Zev catches him, and he doesn’t say anything about it to the other man. The memory is - it  _ was  _ nice, he thinks, of a moment that at one point in time, he held close to his heart. For a moment, he wonders if it was Zev’s room that he was in at that point, but he knows that’s not true. Zev isn’t a part of that memory. 

Actually - the clearer his mind becomes, and the more he recalls, the less he trusts the man in front of him. A deep suspicion is buried in his chest and he suspects that this is not a new feeling. There’s something about this whole situation that’s very, deeply wrong, but he doesn’t know enough to say anything about it yet. 

“I normally don’t explain everything to you when you come back here,” Zev begins, sighing as he leans back in his chair once more, “because there’s no point, usually. I tried, a very long time ago, but it never amounted to anything. But if you’re starting to remember, then perhaps hearing the whole story will help you finally come back to me.” 

Already, he’s lost. “You said you don’t normally explain everything,” he repeats. “Does that mean - have I been here before?”

“Oh, yes,” Zev responds. “Many,  _ many  _ times.” 

“How many?” he asks, slightly breathless at this revelation. 

Zev hums, thinking it over for a moment. “We’re getting close to a hundred, I believe.” 

He doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t understand,” is all that he can manage. The memory of the bedroom and cup of tea flies back through his mind, and he holds onto it, somehow finding peace in that picture even if he doesn’t know the context of it. 

“I know,” Zev says, and once more, that sad smile is back on his face. “Allow me to explain.” 

There’s a piece of him that doesn’t want to hear the truth. He knows, deep down, that this isn’t a story meant for him - it’s for Daniel, and he’s not entirely convinced that he  _ is  _ Daniel at this point. Still, he nods, knowing that he doesn’t have any other options at the moment. If Zev notices anything about his internal struggle, he doesn’t say so, and he simply nods, taking a deep breath before he begins his story. 

“You and I, we belong to a higher plane of existence,” he begins. “It’s known as transcendence. This allows us to shed our physical forms and become part of the fabric of the universe and the collective consciousness, sharing our thoughts, memories, and emotions with all other transcended beings. We can take physical forms and visit other worlds if we wish, but for the most part, we refrain from doing so. Does that make sense?”

“No,” he responds. 

“I thought as much,” Zev says, chuckling under his breath. “Still - pretend that it does, for a moment, okay?”

He wants to protest, but he’s at a complete loss for words. “Sure.”

“This place,” Zev continues, gesturing at the white room around them, “is called Bardo. It’s an in-between point, between the physical, regular world and that of transcendence. Think of it like a staircase. The physical world, the Earth, exists at the very bottom. Bardo exists in the middle, and if you climb all the way to the top, you get to transcendence. The anomaly acts as the stairs themselves.”

“The anomaly,” he repeats, dimly recalling the name. He thinks that he remembers that it looked like a giant green vortex in the sky. He remembers walking through it - and he remembers that he was afraid. 

Zev nods. “Yes. That’s what brought you here.”

This explanation makes absolutely no sense in theory, but oddly, he thinks he believes it. It’s as though it’s answering questions he doesn’t even remember asking, and so, with no options available to him, he takes it in stride. “So - before I came here, I was on Earth, then?”

“Yes,” Zev replies, “you were.”

“Why? If we belong in transcendence, like you said, why would I be down there? Why are we now here, instead of up there?”

At this, Zev hesitates slightly, sighing. “That’s our punishment.”

His brow furrows. “Punishment?” he repeats. “For what?”

It looks as though Zev would rather do anything else than explain this part of the story, but eventually he nods, taking a small sip of tea to calm himself before beginning. “We transcended close to four thousand years ago,” he says. “Everyone from our home planet, Alpha, did. And - for a while, it was great. It was absolutely everything we had ever wanted for our lives. We had abilities beyond our wildest dreams, and we knew things we never even dreamed of. In our mortal lives, we were both scientists, you see - so the access to all this new information changed everything.

“Except - well, we wanted to know  _ more,  _ Daniel. We wanted to understand the complexities of the universe, and to figure out how to make it better. We wanted to  _ help  _ people - and we did.” 

The more he hears, the less like Daniel he feels. “What did we do?” he asks, already knowing the answer isn’t one he wants to hear. 

Zev pauses for a moment. “If you think about it, what we did is quite small in the grand scheme of the cosmos,” he says, “but it was still too much, or so they believed.”

His question still hasn’t been answered. “But what did we  _ do _ ?” he repeats, louder this time. 

“We made humanity better,” Zev says, and there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before, showing that he believes what he’s saying is true. “We only interfered with the population of one very small town, and we gave them abilities beyond their wildest dreams. Really, it’s played out far more interestingly than I ever imagined all these years later, but it’s still just the tip of the iceberg. There’s so much  _ more  _ we could do, and we were going to do, except - the rest of the transcended don’t look kindly upon those who change the status quo.”

“They punished us,” he surmises, casting his eyes towards the floor. He doesn’t remember doing any of the things that Zev’s talking about, but he knows, deep down, that he’s responsible for thousands of years of pain being inflicted on innocent people. 

Zev nods. “They did,” he says. “At first, they simply locked us in Bardo, but then they decided that wasn’t enough. They cursed us both. I am forever trapped in this place with only a fraction of my abilities, able to watch the world below but unable to interfere. And you - every twenty-two years, you are given a new identity and forced to go to Sanctum, the town that we changed all those years ago. The other transcended beings made it so that only upon your arrival do these changes take effect, and the locals are able to access the abilities that we gave them. Each and every time you go, you remember nothing of the truth of your identity, and you try to help them - only, after six months, you’re forced to come back here, where you remember nothing.” 

“I - you mean I become a new person entirely?”

“Yes,” Zev says. “I am forced to reset your memory and send you off through the anomaly. Each and every time, I watch what you do from my own prison up here in Bardo.” There’s a long pause, and then, “Each and every time, I watch you fall in love.”

The last part of the sentence takes him aback, and he’s not sure what to say to it, so he elects to say nothing at all. Instead, he just shakes his head, the explanation not making any sense. “That’s - I don’t understand. If the transcended beings are capable of taking away those abilities, why wouldn’t they do so permanently? Why bother forcing us into this cycle in the first place?” 

Zev nearly starts to laugh. “I suspect,” he says, “they’re just as interested in seeing how it all plays out, like we were. They just hide their curiosity behind a false sense of morality.” 

_ It’s not about immortality. Just - morality, I guess.  _ The words echo through his mind. He doesn’t remember saying them, but they’re in his own voice, and he knows that at one point in time, he must have. For Zev, and for Daniel, the opposite of this was clearly true, and it makes his skin crawl the more he thinks about it. It’s clear to him that the truth of the story is much worse than Zev is letting on, and he has no doubt their “changes” have hurt the people of this town he’d talked about more than he’s admitting. Moreover, if it’s true that those who have transcended could reverse the changes, and they haven’t yet, that means that none of them can be trusted, either. 

Zev’s just told him a lot of things, all of which he knows he should believe, but there is only one truth that he can latch onto with full confidence - he is not Daniel Lee. Not anymore. 

“So,” Zev says, after a beat of silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

He’s saved from having to answer when a loud  _ crash  _ sounds from down the hallway they’d come through earlier. Zev stands quickly, eyes narrow as he looks towards the source of the sound. “What was that?” he asks, having been under the impression that it was only the two of them that would be in Bardo. 

“Stay here,” Zev says, instead of answering, and without another word he leaves the room and briskly walks down the hallway. For a moment, he does just that and lingers in his chair, but then he stands as well and follows him out. He’s absolutely exhausted of being left in the dark. 

The source of the sound has come from the very same room that he’d originally woken up in. Zev’s standing in the doorway, eyes wide, looking at something inside. His annoyance at Zev is only growing, so he has no qualms in gently pushing past him and walking into the room so that he can see what’s going on for himself.

In front of them, the anomaly is open. Seeing the giant green lights once more solidifies the memory he’d recalled earlier, and once again, he feels a deep feeling of fear in the pit of his stomach. It’s not here to take him, not this time, but he still feels an aversion towards it entirely. 

And then, the anomaly blinks out of existence, leaving a man laying on the floor in its wake. 

“This is most unusual,” Zev mutters, staring down at the newcomer with a look of curiosity. “Then again, however, nobody has ever tried to follow Daniel through before.” 

He’s not expecting that, and this peaks his interest. Whoever this is must have been a part of his most recent life - the one he’s just come to Bardo from. Already, it’s a stronger connection to what he’s trying to remember than Zev has been this whole time. He takes a step closer, desperately hoping that this man, who apparently cared enough to follow him through the anomaly, triggers the rest of his memories to make an appearance. 

The man looks up at him, eyes going wide when he catches sight of him. “Murphy?” he says, slowly getting to his feet, staggering slightly. 

This means absolutely nothing to him, but the name rings around his mind, refusing to leave. It feels as though he’s back on those cliffs, at the precipice of something, but he can’t quite make it over the edge, not yet. “Ah,” Zev says, next to him. “I should have realized you’d try a stunt like this. Throughout all his lives, never has Daniel fallen for someone quite so... _ brash.”  _

“Rude,” the man says, blinking as if he’s truly hurt by the insult, but then he turns his attention away from Zev. “Murphy,” he repeats. “You’re really here. You’re okay.” And then, suddenly, he’s racing forwards, his arms coming around to wrap him up in a tight embrace. 

It’s nice, though he isn’t sure why, and he melts into it. “Hi,” he says, hesitantly, unsure of what else he can do. He doesn’t even know the man’s name. 

The newcomer seems to sense a bit of his hesitation, but he doesn’t pull back - not until Zev lunges forwards and practically  _ rips  _ them apart, tossing the man to the side as if he weighs nothing to him. “Hey!” he shouts in protest, but Zev moves closer to him, blocking his movements. “Murphy, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, I - I don’t-,” he stammers, taking a step back, completely overwhelmed and at a loss.  _ He’s at the edge of a cliff, and if he could only jump  _ off - 

“You don’t remember,” the man says, staring at him in shock. “No, that’s - that can’t be.” He seems genuinely horrified to learn this, eyes going wide. 

“I can’t send you back through the anomaly,” Zev mutters, “and if I kill you, they’ll only extend our punishment. Looks like we’ll just have to keep you here, then.” Nodding to himself, Zev grabs the man’s shoulders, pushing him out of the room. 

It doesn’t matter how hard the man struggles - none of his actions seem to harm Zev in any way. Just as he’s almost out the door and out of sight, though, he manages to lock eyes with him once more. “I love you,” he calls. “Remember that I love you!”

And then, he’s gone.  _ Except -  _

_ There’s a man walking down the street reading a copy of  _ Romeo and Juliet.  _ He’s nearly hit by a car, moving so quickly that almost nobody sees it coming - except for him. He pulls the man off the road, seconds before his life would have ended.  _

_ He’s walking through a town that he’s never been to before, but somehow feels like home, another man at his side. There’s something so radiant about how he talks and how he sees the world around him, and as they move through the streets, he can’t help but smile at his companion.  _

_ The statue of a young girl in a park stands before them. There’s a deep well of sadness here, one that, even if they don’t know it, changes everything. “I love you, you know that, right?” the man next to him says, and yes, he does.  _

_ “Just promise me you’ll stay,” whispered to him in a dimly lit room. Strong arms, holding him up when he can no longer stand. A bullet in a body that can’t feel any pain. Rain, tearing down from the sky, reminding him that he’ll never know anything but grief.  _

“Holy shit,” he whispers, only now realizing that he’s on his knees, the sudden waves of memory incapacitating him. It doesn’t stop, even when he almost begs it to. He sees  _ everything  _ fly past his eyes in quick succession, one memory and emotion right after one another, but through it all there’s one person that ties them all together. 

Bellamy. It’s always been Bellamy - and now he’s here. He must have gone through the anomaly after he did, maybe to try to bring him back, and he’d ended up here. Why he appeared later, he doesn’t know, but he suspects time works differently in a place like Bardo. Still -  _ he’s here.  _

As he stays on his knees, breath coming short and fast, several insurmountable truths become apparent to him. His first life, the one that’s been plaguing his dreams, is a man named Daniel Lee. He, along with Zev, created the Troubles and brought them to Sanctum. He’s lived almost a hundred lives since being Daniel, the most recent of which he was a man named Murphy. He remembers absolutely everything from his life as Murphy - which isn’t supposed to happen. 

He’s supposed to be Daniel. Zev wants him to be Daniel - but he’s not, and he never, ever wants to be. Somewhere deep down in the recesses of his mind, Daniel still exists and he’s certain he’ll dream of him again. Maybe for the rest of his life, he’ll constantly be fighting him for control, but for now - he’s Murphy, and he has to get out of here. 

Zev chooses this moment to come back into the room, looking at him curiously. “Are you alright?” he asks, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, “You didn’t recognize him, did you?”

“No,” he lies, standing up and forcing a fake smile onto his face. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.” 

* * *

Murphy’s plans of escaping Zev’s constant watchful eyes are quickly shattered when he learns that the man never, ever sleeps. He never gets a moment alone, even just to think - he’s always hovering over his shoulder, calling him  _ Daniel,  _ and perhaps watching to see if he remembers anything else from a life that Murphy’s desperately trying to bury. 

It takes him longer than he’d like to learn where he’d taken Bellamy. Time moves at a weird pace in Bardo, but he thinks at least a few days go by before Zev lets slip that he locked him in a room near the end of the hall, keeping him alive only because he’s sure that if they killed him, their punishment would be extended. “It’s a pain that he followed you through,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Mortals are foolish in that way.”

“Foolish, yeah,” he agrees, but then an idea strikes him, and he leans forwards slightly. “Speaking of the anomaly - why don’t you use it to leave?”

Zev scoffs. “The path to transcendence is blocked for us,” he replies. “Where else is there to go?”

Murphy shrugs, trying not to betray his true intentions behind asking the question. “Well, why not go back to Earth? To, um - the town?”

“I tell myself it’s because it would be horribly boring, which is true,” Zev says, “but in actuality? I can’t use the anomaly here. Part of my punishment - there’s no way out unless someone lets me. Only you can open it.”

_ Perfect,  _ he thinks, though he only nods in response. There’s at least a thousand holes in his plan, but at least how he has the pieces of one - and all that’s left is to put it in motion. For that, though, he’ll need to get past Zev and make sure he doesn’t try and stop him, and he’s less confident he can do that successfully. 

He knows, now, that Zev brought the Troubles to Sanctum. It takes a truly evil man to do that to innocent people. Murphy can’t do anything about the fact that in his past life, he’d helped him do just that, but he can at the very least get as far away from this place as he can. It feels like every cell in his body is vibrating, itching to jump up and start running. 

There’s yet another cup of tea in front of him. Zev’s turning away, his back to him and the table. Maybe Daniel would stop and think things through, but Murphy’s never claimed to have great impulse control. It’s now or never. 

In one quick motion, he leaps up from the table, springing forwards and smashing the cup right against the back of Zev’s head. For a moment, the man stays standing, and Murphy backs away rapidly, realizing if it doesn’t work, he’s just completely blown his cover - but then Zev keels over, collapsing to the floor in a  _ thump.  _

_ No!  _ a voice cries out, and Murphy stops, spinning to take in the room. There’s nobody there. Zev’s unconscious, and he’s alone, so there’s nobody that could have spoken, except then he hears it again.  _ That was a foolish move.  _

It takes him a second, but then Murphy’s eyes widen and he lets out a breath, realizing that the words being spoken sound just like his own voice. “Daniel,” he says, out loud, even though the man he’s talking to exists only in Murphy’s head. 

_ It’s about time,  _ he hears, but then Daniel falls silent. Murphy’s known for the past few days that Daniel does still exist, in one form or another, but he supposes this whole experience of coming to Bardo and his memories returning has brought him closer to the surface. It makes his stomach twist in knots to know that no matter where he’s going, he’s not alone, but he shakes his head to focus his thoughts. It’s a problem for another time. 

Right now, he bends down, searching the pockets of the long white robe that Zev wears every single day. Murphy’s dressed similarly, but for him, it’s due to a lack of options - Zev actually seems to  _ like  _ wearing it. It’s of no matter, though. After nearly striking out, he finds a small silver key in one of the pockets and he snatches it up. “Rather simple for someone who claims to be better than the  _ mortals  _ down there,” he says to himself, finding the irony that Zev’s using such a regular system to keep Bellamy locked up. 

He bolts out of the room, racing down the hallway as fast as he can. It’s true that he hasn’t seen Bellamy since he’d been taken from the anomaly days before, but it’s fairly easy to figure out that he must be behind the only closed door to be found. Quickly, he pushes the key in the lock, breathing out a sigh in relief when it clicks open. 

Bellamy’s standing right in the center of the room when he races inside, eyes going wide as soon as he sees him. “Murphy,” he says, but then he pauses. “Or - are you-”

“No, it’s me,” he cuts him off quickly. “It’s me. I swear.”

“But - before-”

“I didn’t remember, then,” he says, “but when you came, and what you said - it brought me back. I remember everything.” 

Bellamy’s starting to smile, but it looks like he can hardly believe it, which honestly, Murphy can’t blame him for. “How is this possible?” he says, but he starts to come closer. 

And, well - he isn’t sure, but he thinks he knows. It’s a theory that’s been playing through his mind for the past few days, as to why it is that he remembers being Murphy and not any of his other lives or Daniel, even when technically,  _ Murphy  _ isn’t a real person at all. Before he’d gone into the anomaly, he’d learned that to open it, all he had to do was enter it willingly, yet just as he’d gone in, he hadn’t wanted to leave.  _ I don’t want to go,  _ he remembers saying, and so - he didn’t. 

There’s so much more to this that he doesn’t understand yet, but right now, Bellamy’s here and standing in front of them, and that’s all he needs to know. “I didn’t want to leave you,” he says. “I promised you I’d stay, didn’t I?”

“You really scared me, you know that?” Bellamy says, but then he comes closer and takes Murphy’s hand in his, and it’s like nothing has ever changed at all. 

The urgency of the situation comes back, and Murphy turns to leave the room, pulling Bellamy along with him. “I know, and I’m sorry for that,” he says, “but we need to get out of here now. I’ll explain everything when we’re back in Sanctum, but this place, Bell, it’s not at  _ all  _ what we thought it was.”

“What? What is it?” Bellamy asks, but he doesn’t hesitate to follow Murphy out of the room and down the hall, and then through the door to the place where the anomaly had opened both times. 

“I can’t end the Troubles here,” he says, looking around to catch sight of an anomaly stone, or  _ anything  _ he can use to open it back up. “Zev, and the man that I was in my first life - Daniel - they  _ made  _ the Troubles. This isn’t where it ends, but where it all started.”

Bellamy’s quiet for a second, taking this in. “So where does it end?”

He looks back at him for a moment, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t know,” he eventually says, tracing his hand along the wall to find what it is that he needs. Eventually, he feels a slight deviation in the smooth wall and he realizes with a smile that there’s a panel here out of place. “Come on - help me move this.”

To his credit, Bellamy doesn’t stop to ask any more questions, now realizing that their time for an escape is limited. He races over and together, they pull at the panelling until it  _ pops  _ free, revealing a space in the wall where a very small anomaly stone is. Murphy suspects that Zev put it in here to stop Daniel from using it to leave him, even by accident, during all those times that he’d come here in between lives with no memory whatsoever. He knows that the two of them are truly wicked, through and through, but he can’t help but feel a small bit of sympathy. If he was separated from Bellamy for thousands of years, kept prisoner and forced to watch him make new memories in new lives without him, he thinks he might go crazy, too. 

Except for its size, the anomaly stone looks just like the one that he’d used back in the field on Sanctum, and because of that he knows exactly what to do. He doesn’t even need the symbols to light up this time - he presses each of them, quickly, the knowledge of how to do this right at the front of his mind. 

There’s a pause, and then just as it had back on Sanctum, the anomaly flickers to life. The light from it is so bright that the entire room is washed in its green glow, as if the energy itself is too big and too much for the small space that it’s confined in. “That’s our ride,” Murphy says, nearly laughing at how easily all of this comes to him. Just a little while ago, he would have laughed if someone had told him about the anomaly and a whole other race of transcended beings that are responsible for the Troubles - now, it’s second nature. 

“I’m ready,” Bellamy says, stepping up next to him. 

Murphy smiles, turning to him, but there’s one more thing on his mind. “If I go back,” he says, “the Troubles will return to Sanctum. The solution to them wasn’t here, but there has to be something else that we can do - and I promise you, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that they go away for good.”

“No,” Bellamy says, “ _ we’re  _ going to do that. I came through the anomaly for you. I’m not going anywhere now.”

He laughs, conceding the point. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this, then.”

Bellamy takes his hand, both of them turning towards the anomaly, until - 

_ “Stop!” _

Zev bursts into the room, eyes wide and wild, bits of glass from the cup of tea still in his hair. Gone is any attempt to appear kind - now, his features are twisted into a snarl. The true wickedness that he’s been hiding this whole time is revealing itself, and it ignites a sense of fear in Murphy’s chest that he’s hardly ever felt before. 

“We have to go!” Bellamy cries, and he lunges into the anomaly, pulling Murphy along with him. He doesn’t resist Bellamy’s pull, but he’s not fast enough, and Zev manages to leap forwards and grab onto his other arm, latching on for dear life. 

“Not so fast,” Zev snaps, planting his feet on the floor. Bellamy’s already vanished through the vortex, Murphy’s hand that’s in his right along with him. The anomaly has him, now, and he knows that no matter how hard Zev pulls on, there’s no beating the cosmic forces of the universe - not this one, anyway. 

_ You’re never going to win this.  _

Daniel’s voice rings out in Murphy’s head once more, but this time, all he does in response is smile. “Just watch me,” he says, and then with a cry, he  _ pulls _ , letting the anomaly do the rest of the work. 

The green tendrils wrap around him. The last thing he sees from Bardo is Zev’s angry eyes, driven completely mad by two thousand years of isolation. 

* * *

They emerge at the cliffside. 

It takes Murphy a second to realize that’s where they are, since he was expecting the anomaly to deposit them back in the field on Arkadia island, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter. They’re back in Sanctum, overlooking the water and the town below, and that’s more than enough for him. 

Bellamy’s standing a little ways away, staring down at the town from their vantage point, complete horror etched onto his face. “What do you see?” Murphy asks, his relief quickly fading. The last time Bellamy had looked like that, it had been when Hope Diyoza’s fear Trouble affected him - so whatever he’s looking at, it must be truly horrific. 

“I don’t understand,” he’s whispering, shaking his head in disbelief. “We weren’t gone that long - were we?” Murphy’s eyes narrow, but then he follows Bellamy’s gaze and gasps.

Sanctum’s on fire. 

At least, part of it is - but this isn’t even the worst of it. The harbour, once a hub of activity, is in pieces. The dock is splintered, and nearly all the boats have sunk. Further inland, many of the buildings are burning, while others look as if they’ve been bombed and destroyed from the inside out. Even from this far away, all the way up the cliffs, they can hear screaming. Though the sky is clear, thunder rolls ahead. 

Worst of all is the giant wall of fog that still encases Sanctum from every direction, meaning that nobody can leave - not even to save themselves from the wreckage of the town. “Bell,” he says, quietly, “if the fog is still here then - the Troubles never left, did they? When I went into the anomaly, it didn’t work, did it?”

Bellamy’s just shaking his head. “We were only gone a few days, weren’t we?”

He had thought that to be true, but looking down at the carnage, he knows it can’t be. “I think we were gone for a lot longer than that,” he says, “and I think the Troubles stayed, the whole time.”

Behind them, someone starts to laugh. 

The smell of smoke hits the air around them and distantly, someone’s still screaming their lungs out, but as they turn around and their eyes land on Zev, he’s laughing. “Oh, this is too good,” he says, grinning widely, eyes alight. “Here I thought that landing here would be a miserable time, but - oh, this is better than I ever could have imagined. This will work.”

Murphy swallows, suddenly feeling very small and helpless. “I thought you couldn’t use the anomaly,” he says, as if this will change the fact that he’s standing right there. 

“You pulled me through,” Zev says, spreading his arms wide. “Looks like you  _ do  _ love me, after all. Just couldn’t leave without me!” 

“No,” Murphy fires back, though what leverage he has against a man like Zev, he doesn’t know. 

“Oh, yes,” Zev says, before he can say more. “You broke me out of my prison. After two thousand  _ years,  _ you sprung me from jail!” He lifts a palm to the sky, then, and the air around his hand fizzles with electricity. Murphy knows that in Bardo, Zev’s abilities were limited - but here? He suspects the rules don’t apply. 

The scream suddenly cuts out, meaning only one thing could have happened. “Please,” he says, “don’t you see that you’ve done enough?”

Zev only ignores him. “Don’t worry, Daniel,” he says, “I’ll work on freeing you, next. For now, though - yes. Yes, this will all work just fine.” With that, he waves a hand, and vanishes. Murphy blinks, taken aback for a moment, but Zev is gone, disappearing into thin air - and reappearing anywhere within Sanctum. 

The wind races through the clearing, tearing at his skin and stinging at his eyes. Below them, the waves roar as they crash into the cliffside, and the fire continues to burn in the town.  _ This is all his fault.  _ The Troubles didn’t go away when he left, and now Sanctum’s been forced to contend with them for who knows how long. Maybe, Murphy thinks, it would help everyone out if he simply leapt off the cliffside and jumped into the waters below, erasing both himself and the memory of Daniel Lee from existence. 

“Shit,” Bellamy whispers next to him, and yeah - that about sums it up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! i hope you enjoyed. this chapter is a bit shorter than the last, and there's a lot of wordy exposition in it, but i hope everything made sense. i've somewhat combined the lore of the 100 and haven (the show this fic is based on) together, to make somewhat of a new universe, so i hope what i've done makes sense and the explanation was alright! also apologies if the first half of this was a bit hard to slog through - it was difficult to write from murphy's pov when he didn't know his own name lol. so. apologies there as well.
> 
> thank you for reading as always!


	13. no time to hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had no time to hate, because  
> The grave would hinder me,  
> And life was not so ample I  
> Could finish enmity.  
> Nor had I time to love; but since  
> Some industry must be,  
> The little toil of love, I thought,  
> Was large enough for me."

The first time Murphy had stood up here on Sanctum’s cliffside, he’d been so sure that he’d finally found his way home. Now, as the town burns below him, he knows the truth - he’s the one that destroyed it. 

Sure, he wants to help save the town but now that Zev’s here, he’s not so sure that’s possible. There isn’t any chance that he’ll rest until he gets Daniel back. For a moment, Murphy considers merely relenting to the voice in his head, but he knows that should he do so, he’d only be exposing the town to double the danger that Zev alone brings. 

Maybe, then, he should go through the anomaly again. The Troubles never went away because he held onto his identity as Murphy, so if he makes his way back to Arkadia island and reopens the gateway to Bardo, then maybe they’ll go away for real. But he knows, deep down, that Bellamy would only follow him yet again. No matter how hard he tries to shed his identity, he knows with full confidence that the sight of Bellamy will always bring him back, each and every time. 

Moreover, he can’t risk Bellamy getting hurt again, like he did the last time when Jaha had shot him to slow him down as he’d walked into the anomaly. The memory of this makes Murphy’s brow furrow, and before he thinks twice about it, he turns to the man standing next to him and moves his jacket aside to get a clear look. “How’s your shoulder?” he asks. There’s a faint stain of blood on Bellamy’s shirt that he hasn’t had a chance to change out of, but he can’t see any wound there at all. 

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says, absentmindedly. He’s still staring down at the town that burns below them, eyes wide and fearful. 

Murphy’s always been able to cope in a crisis, so he doesn’t allow himself to join him in his fear, not yet. When there’s a lull in the fight, that’s when he struggles to hold onto himself, but if there’s a job to do and a problem to solve, he can keep a level head. He supposes that’s Daniel’s influence, the realization of which making him shudder for a moment. “You were shot,” he reminds Bellamy, who seems to have forgotten. 

“Oh, yeah,” comes the response, voice distant even though he’s standing right there. “I didn’t feel it.” 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Murphy sighs, running a finger along Bellamy’s shoulder, who doesn’t react to the motion at all - even though he  _ can  _ feel him. “There’s nothing here, though. Not even a scar.”

“Sure.”

He shakes his head, letting his hands drop back to his sides. “Bell, you’re not hearing me - there’s not even a scar.”

Bellamy blinks, glancing down at his shoulder as if to see what he’s talking about, but then he only shrugs and pulls his jacket back up. “That’s good,” is all he says, head slowly turning back to look down the cliffside and at the town below. 

Murphy hesitates for a moment, but then he tentatively reaches out and puts a delicate hand on Bellamy’s chin, turning his head back so that he’s looking at him, and not the remnants of his home. He’s hoping that the sudden feeling will calm him, even just slightly, and by the way his eyes soften he can tell it’s working. “Hey,” he says, slowly, “we’ve been gone a long time.”

There’s a moment in which Bellamy doesn’t say anything, and he only stares, lost in the touch. Smoke is still rising from the burning town and it fills the air around them, stinging their eyes, but neither of them seem to care all that much. It’s easy to pretend, when Bellamy’s next to him, that they’re the only two people in the universe, and the secrets of the cosmos have always been theirs. He doesn’t know if it’s anywhere close, but Murphy thinks that this must be what transcendence feels like, and he can almost understand why Zev is so desperate to bring the man he loves back to it. 

Then - somebody screams, and Bellamy tears his gaze away. “Oh my god,” he whispers, eyes once again going wide. “We’ve been gone a really, really long time.”

“I know,” Murphy says. “We’ve got to-”

But Bellamy’s already gone. The first time they’d climbed up the path to the cliffs he’d been slow and careful, watching every place he put his foot so as to avoid dangers that he’d be unable to feel, but now he races down the path without so much as pausing. “Wait!” Murphy calls, but it’s useless. He’s running headfirst into danger, as he always does, being headstrong and brash and so, so selfless. 

_ I told you that you can’t win this,  _ Daniel says in his head. 

Whenever he manages to speak, his words bounce around in Murphy’s skull, giving him a headache. There’s two people living in one body and he knows that this is in no way sustainable, but he’s got bigger problems to worry about. “Shut up,” he mutters, and then he races down the cliffside, following Bellamy into the center of a danger that he’d only ever tried to protect him from. 

* * *

He makes it down the cliffside and sprints into the street, following Bellamy, who he then nearly crashes right into. “What are you doing?” he says, stepping forwards so that he’s standing beside him, rather than behind. His eyes are yet again locked on something right in front of him, and though Murphy’s getting rather sick of this pattern, he slowly turns to see just what’s got his attention. 

The two of them are standing at one end of Sanctum’s main street, yet the scene in front of them looks like it belongs in a warzone. Cars are parked and piled up haphazardly all the way down the road, some of them broken and crushed and some simply abandoned. There’s a fire raging that sends crackling sparks through the air on one side of the street, devouring all the buildings in its path. Once upon a time, Murphy had thought the olden, wooden buildings of the town were charming - now, they’re simply easy prey. Every so often, a bolt of thunder bursts from the sky, and though there’s no lightning accompanying it, the threat of it holds. 

What’s most terrifying about the whole scene, though, is the people in it. Some scream as they race out of burning buildings, while some are eerily silent, sprinting down the street and every so often checking back over their shoulder. The sound of feet on pavement echoes all around them and it takes Murphy a moment to realize that it’s not the fire that they’re necessarily running from. In fact, the flames are the least of their worries. 

There’s a small group of people at the other end of the street, moving together as a unit as they slowly make their way through town. It’s hard to make out faces from where Murphy and Bellamy stand, but he can tell that they’re all holding guns. Once they’ve come slightly closer, he sees that they’re walking in a pyramid formation, with one person at the front and two on either side of them. This is the group that is striking fear in the hearts of town residents, as they all race away from their approach. 

The person at the front of the group doesn’t have a gun, yet they lead the charge. As they get closer and Murphy can finally make out exactly who it is, he realizes why. She doesn’t have a gun, because she doesn’t need one. 

“Raven,” Bellamy whispers next to him, taking a step forward but then freezing once again as he stares at her. It’s definitely Raven coming down the street, but she’s different than he remembers. She walks taller now, her shoulders held back defiantly, and though she still has her brace and limps when she walks on her bad leg it doesn’t appear to bother her. She twirls a small silver knife in one hand as she surveys the street in front of her, her features twist into a scowl. 

She’s terrifying. 

Ever so slowly, Murphy moves closer, not knowing if he should confront her or run away. This is a very different Raven than the one he’s known - truth be told, he thinks that if she does catch sight of him, she very well might try to kill him. Still, he knows he can’t bolt back up the cliffside, because then he’d be leaving Bellamy at her mercy. Silently, he gestures Bellamy to follow him and he moves a little ways up the road until he’s close enough to hear her, but far enough away that she doesn’t see them yet. The two of them take cover behind an abandoned car, left halfway in the street, keeping watch on what happens through its shattered windows. 

“Harper McIntyre!” Raven shouts, voice booming as it carries down the entire street. “You have betrayed the safety of this town! Come out, and accept your fate!”

Bellamy inhales sharply next to him, fists closing in anger. “Harper’s Trouble is fire,” he whispers, and with a sinking feeling, Murphy realizes exactly what’s going on. “Her hands just catch alight sometimes. She must have started it, but I don’t get what Raven’s hoping to do.” 

“I think I do,” Murphy mutters, but oh, how he hopes he’s wrong. 

“This is your last warning!” Raven shouts. “You know what happens if you don’t follow orders.” Only now does Murphy realize that most of the people in the street have now gone, their footsteps only a distant memory. He hopes that everyone’s managed to take cover somewhere, or simply hide until whatever threat this is goes away. 

The blaze keeps on spreading further down the street. It’s now beginning to engulf what’s left of the newspaper’s office, no doubt burning decades of records and hard work to a crisp. Murphy stares at the building with a pit of sadness growing in his stomach, thinking of Jasper, and how he hadn’t been able to save him from his fate. He wonders if Monty is still alive, somewhere, or if he, too, has fallen victim to Murphy’s failures. 

For a harrowing second, nothing happens, and nobody answers Raven’s cries. He wonders what she’ll attempt to do if Harper doesn’t make an appearance. Silently, Murphy begs her to stay hidden, because the longer he stares at the coldness in Raven’s gaze, the more he’s convinced of what her plan is. 

His pleas are useless. A girl no older than him stumbles out of one of the burning buildings, holding her hands out in front of her. It’s not hard to see why - both of them are surrounded by flames. Her fists are in the center of two burning fireballs that, based on the expression of pain on her face, are burning her skin, yet she doesn’t seem able to make it stop. Murphy glances over at Bellamy, his small nod confirmation that this is the Harper being called for. 

“I’m sorry,” she’s saying, audible as she comes closer. “I didn’t feel it coming in time, and then it just spread, and I’m so  _ sorry!”  _

Two of the men that stand behind Raven are immediately at her sides, holding her shoulders to restrain her. It would be easy to escape their hold, Murphy thinks - her hands are literally on fire. Yet, Harper lets them hold her in place, and she doesn’t try to fight it. Tears stream down her cheeks and she keeps on apologizing, over and over, but somewhere deep down she’s already accepted what’s going to happen to her. 

She’s scared. She’s just a Troubled person who is simply scared, and Raven’s going to kill her for it. 

“Your sacrifice,” Raven says, “does not go unnoticed.” She twirls her knife one more time, and then grips the handle and pulls her arm back in one, fluid motion. Everything she does is trained, practiced, and refined. She’s done this before - there’s no telling just how many times. 

Bellamy’s about to jump up from their hiding place, but Murphy reacts just a half second quicker. He puts a hand on the other man’s shoulder, pushing him down so that he stays out of view, and then stands himself. “Raven, stop!” he cries out, immediately drawing the attention of the other two men behind her that have their hands free, both of which pull out their guns and aim them at his head. He doesn’t have a plan here, or any leverage whatsoever, but if there’s one thing that Bellamy’s taught him after all this time, it’s how to know when to be brave. 

Except - Raven doesn’t stop, not even more a moment. She plunges the knife right into Harper’s heart, and she holds it there for several seconds.  _ “No!”  _ he shouts, and next to him, Bellamy stifles a cry. There’s a moment where Harper stands tall, but then the knife is torn from her body and she falls, crumpling to the pavement in a heap, her hands still burning. 

Raven staggers back, keeping the knife firmly in her grip. Her hand is drenched in Harper’s blood but after only a second, it sinks into her skin and disappears. A bright blue glow overtakes her eyes and as the high of the kill gives her strength, the blaze behind them snuffs itself out. The only way to tell it was ever there is from the smoke, still drifting into the sky, and the remnants of the buildings that it burned away. The fire around Harper’s hands goes out right along with it, leaving behind nothing more than small black charred rings on the pavement below her fists that are soon covered up by her own blood. 

Her eyes still glowing, Raven slowly turns her head until she’s staring straight at him. “You,” is all she says, practically growling when she sees him. Already, she’s adjusting her grip on the knife and drawing her hand back, getting ready to throw. It’s still dripping with Harper’s blood. With the extra strength that she’s been given from absorbing just that, he has no doubt that she can land the throw. 

“Raven, please,” he tries. “What are you  _ doing?”  _

“I’m doing what you weren’t strong enough to do,” she replies, her voice still low and echoing all around, as it always is when she’s at the peak of her super strength. With that, she flicks her wrist back, and he shuts his eyes instinctively against the hit he knows is coming. 

Except - several seconds go by, and he’s still standing. He hesitates but slowly, he cracks one eye open to see why it is that he’s not dead - and when he sees what’s happened, he thinks he really should have guessed it was coming. Zev’s standing just behind Raven, holding her wrist in one hand, easily subduing her even though she’s at her most powerful. “Oh, Daniel,” he says, sighing, bending Raven’s wrist back until she’s forced to let go of the knife, which goes clattering to the pavement below, “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you nearly get yourself killed.”

“Leave her alone,” Murphy says, some small part of him still convinced that Raven’s not past the point of no return. 

Zev clicks his tongue, staring down at Raven, whose eyes are now slowly returning to their normal brown. He’s standing directly behind her, so tall that he nearly towers over her. “Oh, yes,” he says, using his other hand to tilt her chin up and to the side so that she’s looking at him over her shoulder. Some of the men behind Raven point their guns at Murphy, while some have their barrel pointed at Zev, but no one fires a shot, perhaps unsure who the real target should be. “I remember this one. The Reyes family have always been one of my favourites. Taking people’s lives and abilities in one fell swoop - what a thing!” 

“You did this to her,” Murphy snaps, coming around the car and moving closer, his anger so intense that it overtakes any thoughts of safety. Besides, he knows now that Zev will never kill him, not when Daniel still lives in his mind. “You gave these people their Troubles. All of this, it’s your fault.” 

“Oh, but  _ I  _ didn’t do this to her,” Zev tuts, still holding Raven, who for some reason, doesn’t try to force her way out of his grip. “The Reyes’ Trouble, now that one’s on you, Daniel. You came up with that idea all by yourself.” 

Murphy bites his lip, heart close to breaking at the thought. He’s not the one that’s done this, but if Daniel’s to blame, then he might as well be held responsible, too. “If you gave them out, you can take away the Troubles, can’t you?” he tries, already knowing that his feeble attempts at convincing Zev  _ not  _ to be evil are useless. “Look around! Don’t you see that they’re hurting people?”

_ If only you knew how stupid you sound,  _ Daniel says, a comment which Murphy promptly decides to ignore. 

Zev only sighs, perhaps disappointed that it’s Murphy that he’s still talking to. “Well, this has been fun,” he says, “but it looks like the Reyes girl and I have  _ much  _ to discuss.” 

Without another word, Zev vanishes, just like he had before at the cliffside - only this time, he takes Raven with him. The knife she’d dropped still lays on the pavement, wet with blood, the only sign she was ever standing there at all. 

The four men that had accompanied Raven up the street all stagger back, shocked, until one of them begins to shout. “What did you do?” he cries, pointing his gun at Murphy yet again. 

“Are you Troubled? Did you do that to her?” another one shouts, and suddenly there are four very large rifles all pointed at him. 

“No,” he says, holding up his hands and backing away. “Listen - that wasn’t-”

A shot rings out, and quickly drops to the ground, crawling back behind the car next to Bellamy to take cover. “Wait, don’t get close,” he hears one of the men with guns say. “He might do what he did to them to you.” 

Upon this embarrassingly untrue revelation, more gunfire rings out and Murphy ducks his head. “Shit,” he mutters, then looks around as best he can without raising his head to be in the path of any of the bullets. There’s nothing on the street to help them. He doesn’t see a way to get out of the line of fire, and even if he  _ did,  _ he doesn’t have any weapons he could use against the men. 

Next to him, Bellamy’s ducked down as well. “She killed her,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of rapid gunfire that slams into the car. “She really just killed her, like - like it meant nothing to her.”

“I don’t think it did,” he says, still searching for anything he can use to get out of this mess. “She’s not Raven, anymore.”

“And then Zev, he just-” Bellamy cuts himself off, shaking his head, a determination taking over his expression. “Who are  _ these  _ guys?”

“I think,” Murphy says, raising his voice to be louder than that of the onslaught of bullets, “this is what’s left of the Disciples.” 

“But Jaha-”

“There were some real people following him,” he says, recalling how the priest had been Troubled the entire time, and most of his followers were figments of his imagination. “And since we’ve been gone, I bet they did some recruiting!” 

There’s a pause in the gunfire, during which Bellamy tentatively raises his head to look through one of the shattered windows of the car, only to have to duck down again when the bullets start firing once again. “They’re not going to stop!” he cries, looking up at Murphy with genuine fear in his eyes. 

_ If you let me take control,  _ Daniel says, somehow louder than the bullets that slam into the metal of the car just above his head,  _ then I’ll get us both out of this mess.  _

“No,” Murphy whispers, hoping he’ll leave it at that. 

“Maybe we can stay low, and get down the street to the next car,” Bellamy suggests, though they both know that would never work. “They don’t want to come closer, so maybe they won’t follow!”

_ Five minutes. You give me five minutes, and we both get out of this alive, that’s a promise. It’s not like you have any other options, right? _

“Shut up!” he cries. It’s a cruel twist of fate that his last moments alive will be spent listening to the psychotic maniac that lives in his head. 

“What?” Bellamy says. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No, not you!” Murphy sighs, the bullets still raining down. They have to be running out of ammunition soon - don’t they?

_ I don’t want to die any more than you do,  _ Daniel continues on.  _ I’ll even let your stupid boyfriend live. How about that?  _

He’s saved by having to answer the question when a bolt of lightning shatters the sky above them and slams down on the pavement. Murphy can feel the electricity crackling through the air and one of the men screams, but the gunfire stops, and he thinks he hears the receding footsteps of the rest of them. Slowly, he exchanges a glance with Bellamy, and then moves his head up to look through the car window at the other side of the street. 

A real bolt of lightning has indeed hit the pavement, but it’s not a natural weather phenomena. If it were, he thinks, they all should be dead from its impact - but only one man is, laying on the street close to Harper’s body, his own charred and burned from the inside out. The other men have all bolted, discarding their guns as they ran. Murphy stands and slowly comes around from the car once more, Bellamy following behind. 

One woman stands in the street, only slightly behind where the four men used to be. She’s holding an arm out towards the carnage and electricity seems to spark from her very palm and move all around her body, though it doesn’t appear to be affecting her in the slightest. After a moment, she quickly starts walking towards them, dropping her arm back to her side. 

“Wait,” Bellamy says, eyes wide as he stares at the woman’s approach. “Is that-”

“Lexa,” Murphy finishes, breaking out into a grin. “That’s Lexa.”

She looks tired and far more worn out than she had the last time they’d spoken, but when she’s standing in front of them, it’s clear that she’s still the Lexa that he’d known. “So,” she says, casting an eye over both of them, though she, too, is smiling, “you’re not dead after all, then.” 

Murphy only laughs and before he can think twice about it, he rushes forwards and hugs her tightly. It feels so,  _ so  _ good to see someone that he knows, and that he cares about, who is still the person that he remembers them to be. “Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he finally says when they break apart, giving Bellamy a chance to embrace and reunite with his old friend, too. 

When the two of them part, she shakes her head in wonder, a light in her eyes that he’s sure he’s mimicking in his own. “I wasn’t kidding,” she says, “we all really thought you were dead. Where have you  _ been  _ all this time?” 

He’s at a bit of a loss for that one, since he knows it’s only been a few days for him and Bellamy and a much, much longer time for her, so he just shakes his head and gestures to the dead Disciple at their feet. “Is there somewhere safer we can talk?” 

Lexa nods. Her eyes darken when she looks at the body, but only for a moment. “Yeah - you’re right, we shouldn’t stay out here. Come on.” 

They quickly follow her as she turns and retreats back down the street. Murphy thinks for a second that he should take one of the discarded guns laying there, but he decides against it. For one, he isn’t sure he would be able to hold the weapon used by people as evil as the Disciples, and secondly, he’s still not sure Daniel isn’t going to suddenly take over at any moment. If that did happen, he doesn’t want to be responsible for arming him. 

“The lightning,” Bellamy asks as they walk, “that was you?”

She chuckles at the wonder in his voice. “Yeah, it was me,” she replies. “I’ve had some time to practice.” 

Murphy remembers how, after their friends had been murdered in the church graveyard, how she’d been unable to stop the torrential downpour outside. Before, she’d said that the weather was influenced by her mood, but it looks like she’s figured out how to be the one in control. She’s come a long way. 

Despite the destroyed street that they’re leaving behind, he feels somewhat proud of her for it. 

* * *

Lexa ends up taking them to Bellamy’s house. 

Surprisingly, most of this area is still standing, though it looks somewhat abandoned. The houses next to Bellamy’s don’t look like they’ve been occupied in a long time, and the street is eerily quiet. “Sorry we didn’t ask permission to set up shop in your house,” she says, going up the wooden steps to the front door, “but you weren’t exactly here, so.” As Murphy looks up, he feels somewhat comforted that the windchimes hanging over his porch are still there, and he runs his fingers through them, smiling at the melodic tune it produces. 

“You said ‘we,’” Bellamy says, catching up to her and putting a hand on her arm to stop her. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

She smiles, though there’s some sadness in it. “See for yourself,” she says, knocking exactly three times on the door before opening it. Bellamy looks back at Murphy, hope palpable in his eyes, and then he follows her in. 

Murphy pauses for just a moment before he walks in, turning his head up towards the sky and running his fingers through the windchimes just one more time. The town, somehow, feels quiet, and if he doesn’t look at the wall of fog in the distance, he can pretend that he’s not in Sanctum at all. He can pretend that everything is normal, and fine, and all is as it should be, and that he and Bellamy can be happy in a quaint seaside town for the rest of their lives. He can pretend that all his friends are alive, and that nobody’s died before their time, and where he’s his own person, and not some pawn of the universe. 

The sound of the windchimes fades away, and he sighs, turning away from the world outside and following Bellamy and Lexa inside. All of that’s a pipe dream, he knows, but it’s still a nice fantasy. 

“I brought company,” Lexa calls into the house as soon as she enters. Bellamy hovers at the doorway, despite this being his property. As he follows her in, Murphy shuts and locks the door behind him, taking a quick look around. Surprisingly, most things seem to be exactly as they were when they left them. Bellamy’s extensive collection of knickknacks seems to be intact, and if he hadn’t seen what had happened on the street moments before, Murphy might believe that everything was as it should be. 

Then, suddenly, someone darts out of the shadows and there’s a hand on his wrist, and Bellamy’s too. “Whoa!” he says, but he doesn’t pull his wrist away, realizing with a smile just who’s ambushed them as soon as she lifts her head. 

Emori drops her hands from both of them as soon as she realizes she’s with the only two people in the universe who can’t be hurt from her Trouble. “What was that for?” Bellamy asks, though he’s teasing. 

“I don’t like being unprepared,” she snaps back, but relaxes quickly the longer she looks at them. 

“It’s good to see you, Emori,” Murphy says, and then, knowing she hasn’t felt physical contact in what must be a long time, pulls her in for a hug. At first, she’s resistant, but then she hugs him back, even though it’s only for a few moments. 

She bites her lip for a second when they break away, but then she nods. “Yeah,” she says, “you, too. Thought you were dead.”

“So we’ve been told,” he says. Two more people enter the main room, then, one of which immediately races forwards to hug Lexa. Based on her head of blonde hair, he knows that it’s Clarke, and he smiles at their reunion. At least there’s one couple, he thinks, that hasn’t had their love die - not like Monty, who hangs back near the door frame, giving a small wave and a smile in greeting. There are so many people who have died that shouldn’t have, and Murphy still feels guilty for Jasper’s demise - but at least, at the very least, his prediction of Monty’s death has not yet come true. 

Clarke hugs them both, as well, and afterwards Murphy feels like he’s on the verge of tears. He hasn’t expected a warm welcome - truth be told, he was expecting all of his friends to react like Raven and try to kill him for letting them down and failing to end the Troubles. Still, there’s a couple more people he’s wondering about, though Bellamy ends up asking for him. “Miller and Jackson?” he says, softly, and based on the immediate shift in emotion throughout the room it’s clear to see what’s happened. 

“Miller died really early on,” Clarke explains, quietly. From the way she’s talking, it sounds like they’ve all had time to process these wounds, but - it can’t have been  _ that  _ long, can it? “Sanctum is small, and people were scared, and a lot of bullets were fired - and with his Trouble, it just...the vest wasn’t enough.” 

If the gunfire that they’d just experienced is any indication of what’s been going on in Sanctum, then he’s not surprised that Miller’s Trouble, where any bullet fired in the vicinity redirected itself to hit him, was a problem. Still - the news of his death hits him hard, for a moment. The last time he’d seen him was after Jasper’s ghost had possessed Jackson, and Miller had looked at him with horrible, angry eyes, demanding to know what he’d done. It’s not the image of him that he wants to be left with. 

Clarke takes a moment before continuing. “Jackson couldn’t stop seeing his ghost,” she explains, “and he...part of his Trouble was that he could make the ghosts corporeal, so that everyone could see them. We didn’t know, until there were hundreds of ghosts, everywhere, and they were killing people and - well-”

“Raven killed him,” Emori cuts in, fixing Clarke with a fiery look. “Just say it. That’s what happened.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, nodding slowly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Emori, though, is not satisfied with this. “My wife’s Trouble turned her into a murderous psychopath,” she says, staring at all of them, as if challenging them to say otherwise. “I know it, you know it, we all know it, okay?” 

Murphy doesn’t miss the way that she says Raven’s Trouble is responsible for what she’s doing, not Raven herself. He doesn’t know if that’s true, or if that’s just how Emori’s rationalized her actions in her own mind, but he hopes that she’s right. He really, really does. “I’m so sorry,” he says, if only to fill the silence, because there isn’t anything else to say. 

“Yeah,” Clarke says, again, sighing as she leans against the wall. They’ve all settled into somewhat of a circle in the main room. Lexa and Clarke stand beside each other against one wall. Monty leans against the door frame of the next room, and Emori’s next to him, perched on a countertop. Murphy’s still close to the front door, Bellamy right by his side. For a moment, he only stares around the room at his friends, taking in their exhaustion and pain. 

Lexa’s the one to break the silence. “So,” she says, “where the hell have you two been?”

Murphy exchanges a look with Bellamy, truly not sure where to begin or, even, how much he should reveal. They’ve all been through more than their fair share of strife during this time - is it really fair to them, now, to pile on information about higher beings and transcendence? “To be honest,” he says, slowly, “I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you.”

Still leaning against the door frame, Monty begins to laugh. “I know it’s been a while,” he says, “but I didn’t think you’d forget. I’m a lie detector, remember?”

It’s true - he  _ had  _ forgotten about Monty’s Trouble. If anyone told a lie around him, he’d double over in pain, and the deception would be revealed. “I’m never going to say this again,” Murphy replies, “but right now, I’m  _ really  _ glad that that’s your Trouble.”

Monty scoffs at this, but he waves a hand, gesturing for them to begin their story. Still, he hesitates, until Bellamy shifts slightly closer so he’s standing only inches away. “Do you want me to?” he asks, quietly. 

“No,” he says, taking in a deep breath. “No, it’s okay. I’ll explain it all.” 

And he does - or at least, he tries his very best to explain just where the anomaly took them both. He tells them all about Zev and Daniel, and how they brought the Troubles to Sanctum thousands of years ago. He explains the concepts of Bardo and transcendence, and how the anomaly is a gateway between those three worlds. Most importantly, he tells them that Zev is now loose in the town, and that he has Raven with him - and he’s dead set on bringing Daniel back to the surface of Murphy’s mind. 

When he’s done, Lexa, Clarke, and Emori all slowly turn their heads, staring at Monty, as if waiting for his Trouble to strike - but it never does. Monty only shrugs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Okay,” Lexa says, after a beat. “Never would have guessed  _ that.”  _

“I know it sounds crazy,” Murphy says, “but, well - it’s true.” 

“So - you’re Murphy, but you’re also this guy named Daniel?” Clarke asks, eyes narrow as she tries to puzzle out what she’s been told. 

Murphy bites his lip, still not completely sure of the answer to that himself. “I’m Murphy,” he confirms, “but Daniel’s memories, and all of that - I think they’re in my head, somewhere, I just can’t access them.”

_ Oh, we both know there’s a lot more to it than that,  _ Daniel snaps, perhaps offended that Murphy’s failed to admit that Daniel’s consciousness still exists, too. His friends, though, have enough to worry about - he doesn’t want to add his potential to turn into a murderer to the list. 

“Okay,” Clarke says with a sigh, nodding. “Sure - but where were you the rest of the time?”

“What do you mean?” Bellamy asks. “That’s everything.”

“No - that can’t be,” she counters. “All of that, it only sounds like it happened over three days or so. What about the rest of the time you’ve been gone? Where were you then?”

Yet again, Murphy exchanges a look with Bellamy, anxiety prickling his skin. “It’s only been a few days for us,” he says, “but it’s been a lot longer for you guys, hasn’t it?”

They all glance at each other, and more than ever, Murphy feels like somewhat of an outsider. “You’ve been gone for a year and a half,” Lexa finally says, and almost instantly, he feels like all the air in his lungs is stolen. 

_ “What?”  _ Bellamy immediately cries, standing straight up. “No, that’s - that can’t be true.”

“Seventeen months, to be exact,” Monty chimes in. “And the Troubles never went away.” 

Murphy truly hates to admit it, but it makes sense - if that much time really has gone by in Sanctum, it would explain why everything has changed so much, and why they were presumed dead this entire time. Slowly, he nods, placing a hand on Bellamy’s shaking arm to calm him as he takes the information in. “Okay,” he says. “I knew time worked differently in Bardo, but I never would have guessed that long had gone by. I’m sorry for that.” 

“Don’t be,” Emori says. “It’s not like you could have changed anything. Knowing you two, you would have just gotten yourselves killed.”

Maybe she’s right, but he can’t shake the feeling that he could have,  _ should have,  _ done more to help these people. “Still,” he says, softly, and then louder he asks, “What happened during the past year and a half, then? How did Sanctum get to this point?”

They glance at each other again, silently deciding who should get to deliver the news, when finally Clarke sighs. “Let me put it this way,” she says. “It’s been a  _ long  _ year.” 

She explains to them that after he entered the anomaly, and Bellamy jumped in after him, the Troubles hadn’t gone away. Upon this discovery, Raven apparently snapped, and gathered what was left of the Disciples. She took it upon herself to make the Troubles go away, believing that she was the only one who could do it. Whenever a Troubled person couldn’t control their curse, she’d kill them, and end the so-called threat to the town. Overtime, as the Troubles still failed to go away when the six month mark hit, more regular people joined her cause and she drew the town into a sort of militia rule. The police couldn’t do anything to stop her - most of them agreed with her actions. 

“The rule stands that Troubled people are allowed to live, as long as they can manage their curse,” Clarke finishes. “If they can’t - Raven kills them with the help of the Disciples. Since the fog is still up, nobody can leave, and more non-Troubled people are joining her, thinking that it’s the only way they can stay safe.” 

“I don’t understand,” Bellamy says, after a beat of silence. “The wall of fog only stops Troubled people from leaving. Why don’t the non-Troubled just - go?”

Clarke shrugs. “Some of them like being in power,” she says, “and some of them might be secretly Troubled themselves. It doesn’t really matter to Raven.”

“It’s not her fault,” Emori cuts in. “She’s Troubled, too, just like the rest of us. She’s a victim in this.”

“She is,” Clarke replies, though based on the look in her eye, it’s clear that she’s conflicted about agreeing with this statement. 

Murphy bites his lip, deep in thought. “If Zev is working with Raven,” he says, “then a  _ lot  _ of people are in danger.” 

“Zev doesn’t want to kill Troubled people, though, does he?” Lexa asks. “I thought you said that he  _ made  _ the Troubles - surely he wants them all to live.”

“I think,” he replies, slowly, “that Zev’s willing to do anything it takes to bring Daniel back.” He’ll do whatever he can to make sure that doesn’t happen, but Zev’s fueled by four thousand years of anger. 

_ So am I, you know. You can’t bury me with the power of positive thinking,  _ Daniel says - and he knows. He already knows, and that’s what makes it all the more horrifying. 

Outside, the sun is beginning to set, casting the room in an eerie glow as they all take in what this might mean for them. “Well,” Emori finally says, hopping down from the counter that she’d been sitting on, “if the end is nigh, I’m going to get some sleep.” 

“Emori, we need to get prepared,” Clarke says, but this doesn’t slow her down. 

“You do that,” she says, and then she slides past Monty, vanishing into the next room. 

Clarke watches her go, and then turns back to the rest of them. “I’m sorry,” she says, “it’s just - it’s all been hard on her. More than she lets show.” 

Murphy understands that completely, nodding. “Yeah, I know,” he says, “but - she’s also not wrong. There  _ isn’t  _ anything we can do to prepare, not against Zev.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Bellamy says. “There’s always something we can do. We’re not out of this fight, not yet.”

“Haven’t you been listening?” he fires back, turning to face him. “The fight’s been going on for over a year, Bell. We haven’t even been  _ in  _ it.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s too late to start now,” Bellamy says, immediately, and for the first time his relentless hope and optimism starts to get on his nerves. He wonders if he can write that off on Daniel’s influence or if it’s just his own shortcomings. 

Hesitantly, Lexa interrupts their dispute. “Actually - we all could use some sleep, it’s true. I think that’s probably our best idea.”

Clarke looks like she wants to argue, but finally she nods and gives in. “Okay. We’ll meet again in the morning to figure out what we should do, then.” 

Lexa takes her hand in support, turning back to Bellamy. “I’d offer you your bedroom back,” she says, “but Clarke and I have already claimed it for the past year and a half, so.”

“Oh, just give it back to them,” Clarke laughs. “They just got back from - what, interdimensional space travel, or something.”

She pauses as if pondering this, but then Lexa shakes her head. “I saved their lives today, so no, I don’t think so.” With that, she leads Clarke out of the room and out of sight. Monty offers nothing more than another wave before he, too, leaves the room, tapping the door frame as he goes. 

“Well,” Bellamy says, after a moment. “This has definitely been the longest day of my life. How about you?”

* * *

  
  


The two of them end up pulling off couch cushions and finding old blankets in one of the closets, creating a makeshift bed in the living room, a space that nobody else has claimed. “Feels a little weird to be doing this in my own home,” Bellamy mutters, several times, though each time he says it, it brings a smile to Murphy’s face. 

After a while, they both lay there, side by side as the evening glow casts shadows throughout the room. Sure, it’s not all that comfortable, but it’s far better than Bardo - and it’s far better than being alone. Murphy feels very small in the universe, after learning the truth about his life and his past, but with Bellamy next to him, it all doesn’t feel so overwhelming. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, voice cutting through the silence, “I want you to know that I’m with you, through this, okay? No matter what happens - you have me by your side. You know that, right?”

He pauses, and then turns his head to the side, meeting the gaze of a man who’s never looked at him with anything but kindness. “You jumped through a giant green portal in the sky for me. I know,” he says, softly. Then, just because he can, in a small voice he adds, “Dumbass.” 

“Hey!” Bellamy retorts, though he’s grinning widely. “I saved your life doing that.” 

“And then I had to save yours,” he says, laughing under his breath. “We make a really interesting pair, don’t we?” 

Bellamy’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says, “we do.” He shuffles closer under the blankets and then kisses him, softly, the sunset outside illuminating them both in a dim orange glow. 

“You were right, before,” Murphy says quietly, only after they’ve broken apart. “It isn’t too late to start now. It’s not over.” It’s easy, he thinks, to convince himself that this is true when Bellamy’s laying next to him, and the world feels like it’s at peace. 

“I know I was,” Bellamy says, but he doesn’t speak with any malice. “You don’t have to worry, Murphy. I know you’re scared of forgetting again, but I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not going to let  _ anything  _ happen to you.” 

_ Wouldn’t it be so easy to slide a knife between his ribs and rip his heart out of his chest? _

Murphy doesn’t say anything to Daniel’s taunts. He only smiles, desperate to recapture the peace he’d been feeling. 

_ Go on. Give it a try.  _

“I know,” Murphy says, darkness falling outside the window. 

_ I said, give it a try! _

Daniel’s voice roars out at a deafening level and Murphy squeezes his eyes shut, the sudden sound of it sending a sharp pain through his temple. “Murphy?” Bellamy asks, his voice strangely quiet compared to the cacophony that rings through his head. 

“Please, be  _ quiet!”  _ he hisses, eyes still shut tightly, only relaxing when Daniel’s words seem to lessen in volume. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy repeats, only - it’s strained, and he sounds like he’s barely able to say anything at all. He opens his eyes to see what’s going on, and - 

There’s blood on his hands. There’s a knife in Bellamy’s chest and there’s blood all over his hands and outside, the world is silent, yet Daniel keeps on laughing. 

“No,” he says, “no, no - this isn’t right.” Except Bellamy’s breaths are growing shallower and his eyes are fluttering closed, losing his grip on reality. Blood pours from his wound and though Murphy swears he wasn’t holding it before, the handle of the knife seems to fit perfectly in his grip. 

“Murphy, please,” Bellamy whispers, and then he’s gone from the world entirely. 

“I did this,” Murphy whispers, and then he cries out, clutching at Bellamy’s chest, begging him to come back to the land of living.  _ He did this.  _ Daniel must have taken control, or - or maybe this was in him all along, or - 

It doesn’t matter. He starts to sob, loudly, not caring if anyone else in the house hears. Maybe he’s killed them all already, too, and nobody will come to find out what’s going on. Or maybe he hasn’t, and they’ll all kill him for his crime, and it will all be over. “Please,” he begs, but Bellamy lies still beside him, dead at his hand. 

It’s his fault. This is his fault. It’s  _ all always been his fault -  _

Murphy wakes with a start, sitting straight up from the makeshift bed and letting out a small cry before he can contain it. It was a dream - it must have been, but it hadn’t felt like any of the other nightmares he’d had about Daniel before. It had felt  _ real,  _ so much so that if he looks at his hands he still sees blood on them. 

“Murphy?”

He snaps his head over to look at Bellamy, not caring all that much about the flood of tears that pours from his eyes when he sees him alive, intact, and whole. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, repenting for an act he hasn’t committed but knows that he’s capable of, flinging himself into Bellamy’s arms and holding him tightly. The image of his dead body is burned into his mind and no matter how hard he holds onto him, he’s not quite convinced that he’s real. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bellamy’s whispering on repeat, drawing comforting circles on Murphy’s back but he barely feels him at all. Any second, Bellamy’s going to die on him again, and he isn’t ready to experience that again, not now, not ever. 

_ I told you I wasn’t going to be buried that easily,  _ Daniel says. If he’s capable of influencing Murphy’s dreams, and showing him his worst nightmares, then he’s closer to taking control than he’d thought. This only increases the fear in his heart and though he tries to stifle them, he continues to sob. 

Eventually, Bellamy pulls him back under the covers, though he holds him close the entire time. He falls back asleep after minutes, and Murphy knows that he should take solace in his presence, and he should be able to find peace knowing that the dream was just a trick from Daniel, but he can’t. He can’t shake the feeling that it’s really going to happen one day, and when it does, he won’t have Echo around to fix his mistakes. 

Murphy doesn’t sleep for even a minute the rest of the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! i'd like to take a second and say that you should definitely check out charlie's new fic that they just posted. it's simply the best murphamy adventure fic out there and if you like humour and falling in love, you absolutely have to read it. you can find that [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230957) :)
> 
> thank you for reading this update! i hope you have a wonderful day.


	14. time assuages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They say that 'time assuages,' —  
> Time never did assuage;  
> An actual suffering strengthens,  
> As sinews do, with age."

They don’t talk about what happened during the night in the morning, even though it’s clear from his expression that Bellamy wants to. His eyes are full of understanding and sincerity as the morning light splashes through the room and, truth be told, Murphy doesn’t know how to handle that. He’s not sure he knows how to be as vulnerable as Bellamy’s ready for him to be, especially not when Daniel’s essentially watching everything he does over his shoulder. 

So - they don’t talk about it. Instead, they fold up the blankets and put the couch cushions they’d taken to fashion their bed back in their place. As he’s putting the pile of blankets back in the closet where they belong, an odd feeling of melancholy begins to settle in his chest. He wonders if he’ll ever be in a place like this again, where his biggest concern is organizing the linen. Somehow, with complete assurity, he knows that everything is about to change, as much as he doesn’t want it to. 

Because he’s Murphy, though, he closes the closet without a sound and returns back to the main living room of the house, where the rest of his friends are now rousing themselves with the sun as well. Upon his return Bellamy offers him a small smile which he returns, regardless of how much it hurts, and he takes a seat next to him on the couch they’d just put back together because he knows that’s what he’s supposed to do. 

Lexa’s made coffee, and she pours everyone a cup before she takes a seat next to Clarke opposite them. “It’s hot,” Murphy reminds Bellamy as he takes the cup offered to him. After a few minutes, Monty takes a seat on the other end of the couch that they’re on, holding his coffee in both hands to take in its warmth. There’s a sadness that he carries that Murphy doesn’t remember him having, and the guilt that he’s never going to get over slowly starts to eat away at him again when he thinks of exactly why this is. 

Finally, Emori wanders in, casting an eye over the two full couches in the room before shrugging and perching on the arm of one of the sofas, picking up the coffee Lexa’s left out for her. “Morning,” she says, looking over at him and Bellamy. “I see you two haven’t left town again.”

“We’re not going to, not again,” Bellamy responds, but Murphy can tell that she’s only teasing, and doesn’t offer anything back. 

Clearly wanting to get down to business, Clarke leans forwards, almost instantly drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Murphy smiles softly at this, figuring that during the past year and a half, Clarke’s taken up the position of leader in this group. It makes sense to him - she’s always been practical and logical, and most importantly, she wants to do the right thing by everybody, no matter what it takes. “So,” she begins, clasping her hands together in front of her, “safe to say, we learned a  _ lot  _ last night. Now, we have to decide what we’re going to do about it.”

Perched delicately on the armrest of the couch, Emori scoffs. “Who says we should do anything about it?”

“Because, a lot of people are in danger,” Clarke replies, somewhat taken aback by Emori’s words. “If there’s any way that we can help this town, we have to do it.” 

“People have been in danger for the past year and a half,” Emori counters. “That hasn’t changed. News flash, Clarke, but we haven’t done  _ anything  _ for that whole time, except hide and hope for the best.”

Clarke bites her lip, shaking her head softly. “Maybe,” she says, “but with Zev here, the threat is double. We can’t afford to stay silent anymore and be thankful that at least we have Troubles that are manageable!” 

“Manageable,” Emori mutters, eyes narrowing as she stares down into her coffee. “Really? Is that what you call it?”

“You know what I mean,” Clarke says, though her voice is quieter now. 

Emori pauses before she looks back over at the blonde, fire in her eyes. “Your Trouble is  _ drawing _ ,” she snaps. “The only two people in this world that I can make contact with without  _ hurting them  _ are the very two that abandoned this town, but oh, yeah, thank goodness my Trouble is so  _ manageable _ .” 

Murphy doesn’t meet her gaze, knowing that she’s referring to him and Bellamy with that statement. He wants to try and convince her that he wasn’t  _ abandoning  _ the town, he was trying to save it when he left through the anomaly, but he stays quiet. After all that they’ve been through, he supposes that point doesn’t really matter all that much. Next to him, Bellamy tenses, but he stays quiet too, perhaps thinking along the same lines. 

“I’m sorry, Emori,” Clarke says, breaking the silence, “but my point still stands. Because our Troubles are manageable, we can take the fight right to Zev and Raven.” 

“And we’ll help Raven overcome her Trouble,” Lexa chimes in, loudly, making sure that Emori hears and understands it. Whether or not it’s possible to get Raven back, Murphy truly doesn’t know, but he hopes there’s something they all can do for her. 

Next to him, Monty’s deep in thought. “Your Troubles are powerful,” he says, gesturing to the three women across from him, “but mine? I’m a lie detector. And Bellamy, I’m sorry, but I don’t see how being unable to feel anything is going to make a mark against someone as powerful as Zev.”

Bellamy lets out a breath, unable to argue with this point. “No, you’re right,” he says. “Our Troubles won’t hurt anyone, but they’re not all that helpful, either.” 

“You’re good with a gun,” Clarke points out, “and Monty, you and Raven were close, weren’t you? Maybe you can help get through to her.” Murphy has to hand it to her - with only a few words, she’s inspired confidence throughout the room, and already a plan is coming together. 

When nobody objects to this point, at least, Clarke stands and walks out of the room for a moment, returning soon with a notebook and pencil in hand. “It’s as good as a gun,” she sighs, sitting back down. Only now does Murphy see her grip on the paper is so tight that she’s creasing it. He doesn’t know the details of Clarke’s Trouble - only that whatever she draws affects the real world, and that she’s terribly afraid of using it. 

“Maybe you could draw Zev,” Lexa suggests. “Murphy can tell you what he looks like, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies, knowing he’ll never forget the man’s face. 

Clarke nods. “Right,” she says, psyching herself up for the task at hand. “Then, all we need to do is destroy the drawing, and it should kill him.” 

“He’s immune to the Troubles, though,” Murphy points out, which makes Clarke’s face fall. “Just like I am. Will your drawing still be able to affect him?”

She thinks this over for a moment. “Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” she finally says, “but there’s no shame in trying, right?”

_ There’s a lot of shame in losing.  _

Murphy, though, ignores Daniel’s interjection, and gives her the most reassuring smile that he’s capable of at the moment. “Right,” he agrees, and just for a moment, he can feel the mood of the room lift, and suddenly everything doesn’t feel so impossible. Clarke begins sketching the outline of a person, Emori relaxes on her seat, and Bellamy gives his hand a small squeeze in reassurance. 

He’s just about to start telling her the details of Zev’s appearance when - 

_ Bang.  _

The front door splinters and caves in on itself. There’s another loud  _ bang,  _ and then the door is ripped off the hinges entirely, the front room now littered with wooden splinters and shavings. They’re all on their feet in seconds, six cups of coffee discarded and abandoned on the table. Bellamy searches for a gun, or any weapon at all, coming up empty but still protectively stepping in front of Murphy and the rest of their friends. Emori moves up beside him, ripping the gloves off her hands. 

Zev strolls in the room, casually, as if he’s been expected. Emori tenses, about to challenge him, but Murphy grabs her wrist to stop her charge. “You can’t hurt him,” he hisses, and though he can tell she doesn’t want to, she stands her ground and doesn’t approach. 

“Ah, Daniel,” he says, gazing around the house, “what an... _ interesting  _ place you’ve found here - not to mention the company you’re keeping.” 

“What do you want, Zev?” Murphy snaps, moving his way to the front of the group. The answer to that question is obvious, but he knows that he’s in no danger of being hurt by him, and the same can’t be said for everyone else in the house. 

Zev grins as he comes closer, eyes softening even just for a moment. “I want you to come home, Daniel,” he says. “Is that too much to ask, after four thousand years?”

“I am home,” he fires back, but once again, Murphy gets that odd feeling in his stomach that seems to tell him he might be home right now, but this place is temporary, and soon, he’ll never see it again. “And it’s time that you leave - after all, there’s six of us, and only one of you.” 

The man scoffs at this, gesturing to someone outside. “How about we level the playing field, then?” he says, and upon his words, Raven walks through the door, standing at his side. There’s something about her that’s different, though - she’s walking taller, and though her eyes aren’t glowing like they do when her Trouble takes effect, they’re far colder than he’s ever seen them before. She looks over the room, seemingly void of all emotion, taking in the six of them facing her. 

And then, her hands catch fire. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers, unable to take his gaze away from the sight. It looks exactly like how Harper’s hands had, just before Raven had killed her on the main street of town and absorbed her blood. Her Trouble doesn’t work this way, but it almost seems as if Raven’s using Harper’s Trouble as her own, only in a much more controlled way. The blaze surrounding her palms is completely calm, moving only at Raven’s discretion. 

Zev laughs at their shocked expressions, looking at Raven’s display of fire with pride in his eyes. “Do you like what I’ve done?” he asks. “I thought you might. The Reyes Trouble was your idea, Daniel - I’ve just improved on the concept.”

He’s almost scared to ask, but the longer he keeps Zev talking, the longer until someone gets hurt. “What did you do?”

“The Reyes family has been taking Troubles out of bloodlines for centuries,” he explains, “absorbing their blood  _ and  _ their ability as they do so. I simply activated all those Troubles that were laying dormant in Raven’s blood. Call it an upgrade, if you will.” 

_ That’s my Zev,  _ Daniel laughs, filling in for Murphy’s shocked silence. There’s no telling just how many destructive Troubles that Raven and her ancestors had taken - if she’s got control of all of them, and can use them whenever and however she wants, then there’s no stopping her. Zev’s created someone just as powerful as he is to stand by his side. 

“You’re sick,” Emori whispers, bringing his attention back to the present. “You’re absolutely  _ sick!” _ Then, with a cry, and before anyone can even think to stop her, she lunges forwards, bare hands outstretched. 

Zev, though, is less than threatened. He merely grabs her wrist when she approaches, giving her a look of boredom and disappointment as he holds her in place. Emori struggles, kicking and screaming at him, but he’s far stronger than her. “Really?” he says, looking down at her. “Did you really think that would work?”

“Fuck you!” she shouts in return, only making Zev sigh in annoyance once more. 

“Let her go,” Lexa cries, desperation in her eyes. It’s clear she wants to do something, but with the confrontation happening indoors, her Trouble is next to useless. 

Monty, taking Clarke’s words from earlier to heart, takes a tentative step towards Raven. “Please, stop this,” he says, softly, appealing to her and her only. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” 

Raven says absolutely nothing, moving her gaze away from him as if he means nothing to her. Maybe now, after all that’s been done to her, that’s truly the case. 

“Zev, please,” Murphy tries once more. “Everyone here is innocent. It’s me that you’re here for, right? That’s why you’ve come?”

“Can you blame me?” Zev replies, still holding Emori, not letting her escape from his grip no matter how hard she struggles. “I just wanted to see where my lover is spending his nights.” 

“Well, you’ve seen it!” he says. “You can leave these people alone, now. They’re innocent in all of this between you and me.” 

Zev looks back at Emori, a chilling shine in his eyes. “Maybe,” he says, “but this one wants to kill me.” 

“She’s just scared,” Murphy says, which he knows that Emori will be angry at him for later, but he’d rather that than have her die right in front of him. “Everyone is. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” Zev says. “But how rude! Trying to take me out with a Trouble that I created. You know, now that I think about it, I created this one  _ and  _ the one that comes with it. The woman whose touch brings pain, and the man who can’t feel anything at all. It’s a match made in heaven, if I do say so myself.” 

Even in her predicament, Emori glances over her shoulder to exchange an uneasy look with Bellamy. “Uh, no,” Bellamy says, slowly. “That’s not - we’re not-”

“Oh, no, I know,” Zev cuts in. “Don’t worry. I get it. Daniel’s irresistible.” 

Bellamy opens his mouth to say more, but no words come out and he shuts it awkwardly once more. Murphy shakes his head, more than ready to be done with this. “Can we just - please, let her go. This is between you and me, we don’t have to bring anyone else innocent into it.” He can tell his friends behind him are growing tired of not taking action, but none of them know what to do. 

“You and I are far from done,” Zev says, his eyes darkening once more, “but for now, I think it’s time to teach your friend a lesson. Raven?” Upon his words, Raven draws out a long knife that she’s kept concealed in her belt and hands it to him without a word, the fire still burning around her hands. The flames don’t seem to bother Zev, though, who takes the knife from her with a sickening smile. 

“Wait,” Murphy says, “please, whatever you’re going to do - we can work something out. I’ll go with you, just stop this, please!”

Zev shakes his head, not even meeting his gaze. “Daniel would have loved this,” he mutters, and then he raises the knife and is about to bring it down on Emori’s wrist, he’s about to  _ cut off her hand -  _

Raven screams. 

The fire surrounding her hands flickers out for a moment as she doubles over, staggering back away from them. There’s blood on her side that’s soaking through her shirt, except nobody’s even raised a hand to her. “No!” Emori cries, tearing her wrist free only due to Zev’s distraction. 

Clarke steps to the front of the group, steel in her eyes and one piece of paper in her hands. It’s then that he realizes what she’s done - the whole time the confrontation has been going on, Clarke has been  _ drawing.  _ When she moves in front of him, he sees that it’s not Zev she’s sketched - it’s Raven, and she’s ripped the paper only slightly. Because of her Trouble, the slight rip in the drawing has affected reality, resulting in the very real cut in Raven’s side. 

“Don’t move,” she says, firmly and authoritatively, “or I destroy more of this.” 

Zev stares at her for a moment, as if taking her in and figuring her out. “Griffin,” he realizes, a slight awe in his voice. “I should have realized you were here. Well, now - that’s interesting, isn’t it?” 

“Leave,” Clarke continues, and once again, Murphy feels an overwhelming sense of pride as he realizes just how strong of a leader she’s become through all this. “Turn around, and walk away, and we won’t have a problem.” 

Raven’s recovered slightly, standing up tall once again despite the wound on her side that’s still bleeding. A moment of silence passes where Zev is clearly deep in thought, before he shakes his head, ever so slightly. “It’s a shame to end your Trouble with you,” he says. “It’s one of my favourites - truly! The family of artists whose drawings change reality. It’s always been one that I’ve enjoyed watching play out, but you’re just too much of a wildcard to keep around. I can’t take that chance, and for that, I  _ am  _ truly, truly sorry.” 

Several things happen very quickly. 

Zev lunges forwards and snatches the drawing from Clarke’s hands, who in turn wasn’t expecting him to do so and lets the page go. He smooths it out, holding it carefully, and then gestures to Raven, silently communicating what it is he wants her to do. Raven takes one look at Clarke, lifting her palm to the sky and moving the fire so that it floats above her hand in a sphere, and then she throws it right at her. 

The fire hits Clarke’s chest and in a second, engulfs her entire body from head to toe. She  _ screams  _ and so does Lexa, lunging forwards, only saved from certain death when Monty holds her back. Sparks shoot out from the blaze and soon, Clarke stops screaming, her body falling to the floor that remains unscarred from the fire burning right on top of it. 

When the flames go out, there’s nothing left but a pile of ash. 

_ “No!”  _ Lexa screams, falling to her knees on the floor, the world outside erupting in a torrential storm. Her hands shake above the ash, as if she wants to gather it but she’s not sure if she should, or even where to start. 

“Oh, no - I didn’t really think this through, did I?” Zev says, craning his head to look out through the space the door used to stand to gaze at the world. The entire house is shaking from the wind that is so powerful, any second now Murphy thinks it’s all going to collapse in on itself - and he doesn’t think he’d mind so much if it did. 

He looks over at Lexa, though his eyes are filled only with annoyance. There isn’t a single part of him that regrets what he’s just done. “Raven - how about you use the Vie Trouble? You remember that one, right?” 

Raven only nods, moving her gaze over to Lexa. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ hurt her!” Murphy cries out, but it’s useless. He can’t do anything to stop it. Raven’s eyes glow, for only a second, and immediately Lexa crumples to the floor, eyes shut. The storm outside immediately vanishes, replaced by the burning sunlight. Lexa doesn’t get up again, her body curled around the pile of ash left behind by the woman she loves. 

Bellamy staggers back, stifling a sob, while Emori stares at her wife in complete horror. Very slowly, Monty sinks to his knees, putting two fingers on Lexa’s neck to check for a pulse. After a moment, he nods, looking up at the rest of them. “She’s alive,” he says. “I think she’s just asleep.” 

“Yes, yes, the sleeping Trouble,” Zev says, waving a hand as if to speed up the process he’s so clearly bored by. “A handy one, for sure. Now, Daniel, if you’ll just come with me, we can be on our merry way.” 

“Not a chance,” Bellamy cuts in, fighting the tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks but still protecting Murphy before anything else. 

Except - there’s nothing to be done. Clarke’s dead, and there’s no telling if Lexa will ever wake up, and if he stays here, the carnage will only pile up. “Bell, it’s fine,” he says, quietly, moving towards Zev and Raven, who is starting to struggle a bit with the wound on her side. “He won’t hurt me. He can’t.” 

“So bold,” Zev says with a laugh. “Maybe you’re more like Daniel than you think.”

_ Maybe that’s true,  _ he thinks, and he’s dangerously close to not being able to tell if it’s his own thoughts he hears or Daniel’s. 

“No,” Bellamy repeats, grabbing his hand to keep him there. “We’re not splitting up again. There’s not a chance.” 

“Take care of them,” he says, and then he does the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his life - he lets go of Bellamy’s hand and walks away from him. 

“Murphy!” Bellamy calls, and he lunges after him but then Monty’s standing behind him, holding him in place without a word. “Murphy,  _ please!  _ Don’t do this!” 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what  _ to  _ say, not with Clarke’s horrible death on repeat in his mind and Lexa’s fate in peril, too. The only thing he can do is follow Zev and Raven into the street and remind himself, that yet again, he’s failed. 

* * *

Zev ends up taking him to the church. 

He hasn’t been here in quite some time, and he can’t say that he’s missed it. The old wooden building only reminds him of what he’s lost, and what he now knows he can never get back. 

It’s empty when they walk inside, but based on the sheer amount of guns and other supplies that have been collected at the front of the church, the Raven and the Disciples have clearly been using it. “Took a page from Jaha’s book, did you?” he says, doing his absolute best to bury the grief and anguish that swells in his chest. 

Raven doesn’t say anything to him. She only digs through the mountain of supplies for a moment, pulling out a small medical kit and sitting down on the edge of the stage. Wordlessly, and without even once flinching in pain, she begins to sew up the wound on her side by herself. It’s clear to him, then, that though Zev might have given her access to all those Troubles, he’s also stripped her of whatever humanity she had left - if there was any, to begin with. 

“Now, Daniel,” Zev says, slowly striding down the center aisle of the church, while Murphy stays right where he is by the door. “It’s time for this charade to end, don’t you think?”

There’s no point in holding back now - not after all that he’s done. “If there’s one of us that’s playing a ‘charade,’” he says, “it’s you.”

Zev drops his jaw in a dramatic fashion, spinning around to face him. He’s halfway down the aisle, far away from him, but still far too close for Murphy’s liking. “Whatever do you mean?” he says, feigning surprise. 

“You keep calling me Daniel,” he replies, well aware that he’s taking the bait, “when you know very well that I’m far from being anything like him.”

“Are you?” Zev asks, humming absentmindedly and taking a step closer down the aisle, coming back towards him. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

Murphy, for reasons he can’t explain, takes a step towards him as well, narrowing the gap between them. It’s like he’s being pulled towards him, caught in his gaze, but he’s too emotional and fired up to even notice. “You’re never going to get him back,” he says. “I’m here to stay, whether you like it or not.” 

Zev rolls his eyes, though the grin on his face never fades. “You’re not real,” he says, and if Murphy didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded genuinely apologetic for that. “You never have been, and you never will be. You’re just the last remnants of a punishment that we’re  _ this  _ close to breaking free from.” 

“The others in transcendence won’t let you do this,” he says, pretending to be confident as he takes another step towards him, even though he’s anything but. “They locked you up once - they’ll just do it again.”

“You forget,” Zev fires back, “that they refuse to interfere, no matter  _ what  _ happens down here. Don’t you think they would have done something already if they actually cared about any of these mortals?” 

He makes a good point, but Murphy’s not giving in yet. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“No,” Zev says, and only then does Murphy realize that he’s standing right in front of him, mere inches away. “No, I don’t think we will.” 

Murphy opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get the chance. With a wicked grin, Zev raises his arm and puts his hand right over Murphy’s heart, and then - 

The church fades away, and he’s elsewhere. 

* * *

_ Daniel Lee is always laughing.  _

_ He’s laughing even as he races through the dense forest, leaping over fallen branches and bounding through the brush as a crowd of very angry villagers chases him. There’s a thrill from this that he hasn’t felt in years, and it excites him, the adrenaline reminding him what it feels like to be human - to be alive.  _

_ One day, the villagers would see that he’s helping them by giving them their gifts, not hurting them - though, he supposes their regular mortal minds will need a while before they get there. No matter. He’s got all of eternity to watch as they make it to that point, and eventually, he’ll welcome them all into transcendence with open arms and congratulations.  _

_ For now, though, he just laughs and laughs as he runs. The wind throws itself against him but he doesn’t slow down, pushing his way through it, turning a corner and -  _

_ Someone grabs him, roughly pulling him down to the ground and behind the cover of a large group of trees. “Hey!” he protests, but then there’s a finger against his lips and a pair of eyes next to him that have never known anything but patience and kindness, especially when it comes to him.  _

_ The villagers race past their hiding spot, continuing on their chase of a man who has already gotten away. Daniel starts to laugh once more as they vanish out of sight, and so does his saviour next to him, so that the only sound in the entire forest is that of two men laughing at how in over their heads they are.  _

_ “Oh, Zev,” Daniel says, “you’ve always been my knight in shining armour, haven’t you?” _

_ “I wouldn’t have to be, if you didn’t keep getting yourself into these situations,” Zev replies, but the words are full of nothing but love and adoration.  _

_ Daniel smiles, lost in the moment. “Maybe I like getting rescued by you. Have you ever thought of that?” _

_ “Only you would think something like that.” _

_ “And yet, you keep on saving my life.” _

_ Zev pauses, and he looks at Daniel as if he’s his whole entire world. “I’ll always be here to save you,” he says. “Don’t you ever forget that.” _

_ “I know,” Daniel says, and they kiss under the waning moonlight, alone in a world that they’re only just getting started with. The stars shine above their heads and they don’t leave that very spot, not for a long, long time.  _

_ There’s no need to hurry when they have eternity to work with.  _

* * *

He opens his eyes to find himself in a church, the memory still fresh in his mind. It feels like it happened yesterday, the raw emotions of the moment still coursing through his mind as he thinks about it, the pure love and intensity bringing a smile to his face. He’d give absolutely anything to feel like that again. 

A man stands in front of him, hand on his heart, eyes full of patience and kindness. “Daniel?” he says, cautiously. “Is that you, my love?”

Thousands of years of memories wash down upon him and he laughs, loud and full so that it echoes throughout the old, rickety church. “Oh, Zev,” he says, taking the hand that’s been on his heart into his own. “It’s been too long.” 

Zev’s eyes light up. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing him, washing away four thousand years of pain and loneliness. It’s absolutely everything, for a moment, and he’s finally  _ free  _ after being erased from existence over and over and over again for years on end except - 

this isn’t right, because he’s not - he’s not alone, there’s something else yelling at him, only nobody else can hear them, and suddenly a ringing erupts in his mind and he pulls away from Zev, forcefully, clutching his head in his hands. 

_ I’m not done yet,  _ he hears, and then an inhuman sounding  _ roar  _ erupts in his mind and he screams, he screams and screams until he can’t anymore, not because the pain or the fear goes away but because his lungs are no longer his own, and his words are not his own, and yet again, he’s shoved into the backseat of his own mind and body and left there, alone and suffering. 

Murphy’s not done yet. 

The ringing in his head slowly subsides as he takes back control, forcing his way past Daniel to take back what’s still his. Zev’s eyes are wide and he’s backing away, slowly, but Murphy manages to lift his head and fix his gaze with his own. “Nice try,” he whispers, supporting himself on one of the church pews as he stands up straight once more. 

It’s shaken him, far more than he’ll ever admit, that Daniel was able to take back control so easily, even just for a moment. Being pushed to the background of his own mind had felt horrifying, and cold, and worse than lonely, but he’d clawed his way back before Daniel had even realized there was still someone else living in his head. 

_ Close one. Next time, I’ll remember to snuff you out for good,  _ Daniel taunts, though he, too, sounds exhausted and afraid by what’s just happened. For a moment, Murphy feels a sliver of guilt from doing what was just done to him to someone else, but then he remembers Clarke’s burning body and he no longer feels bad.

Zev’s still shaken, but he looks like he’s recovered slightly as he stands up tall in front of him. “A slight setback,” he says. “No matter. Daniel will return, soon enough.” 

“No, he won’t,” Murphy says, and he staggers back, moving towards the church door and away from Zev before he can do whatever he did before again, and unearth more buried memories that are enough to drag Daniel to the surface. He’s exhausted, but he moves towards the door quickly, making his escape. 

“When you do come back to me,” Zev calls out, “find me up on the cliffside. Together, we’ll put this town out of its misery and we’ll start all over again, like we should have done, all those years ago!” 

And with that - he lets him leave. Maybe he’s confident that Daniel will come back and he doesn’t need him to stay anymore, or maybe he’s far more shaken by the sudden loss than he wants to admit and needs time to recover. Either way, Murphy’s not about to think twice, and he bolts away from the church and down the street as soon as he can. 

Yet, he doesn’t know where to go. Going back to Bellamy’s house is a bad idea, since he knows that his presence will only get those who survived killed, even if every instinct in his body screams for him to return there. Wandering through Sanctum is dangerous enough as it is, but he can’t go to the cliffside unprepared like this, and he can’t go back into the church. Murphy slows down his pace, looking all around him, and seeing exactly no options. 

_ Look at that,  _ Daniel says.  _ You’re back in control, and yet you’re still all alone.  _

For the first time since this whole horrible mess began, Murphy agrees with Daniel Lee. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this one is a little short but since i just posted the other chapter yesterday, hopefully that's okay! i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. i'm hoping to have this fic finished within the week, so let's see if that actually ends up happening!


	15. time, thou art a youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Time! Thou art a youth, a youth all power.  
> I cannot vision thee an aged man.  
> Thou art the messenger of century  
> To century, thou Hermes-footed one;  
> And with thy wand of progress thou dost wake  
> All worlds to motion and all men to zeal."

Murphy’s not good at being alone. 

Okay, sure - so he’s only been alive for a month or so. That doesn’t change the fact that ever since he’d come to Sanctum, he’d been surrounded by people. Now that he thinks about it, he hadn’t even necessarily  _ tried  _ to make friends or to find love. It had just happened to him, as if it was always meant to be. 

He doesn’t have any memories of his past lives, of what it was like to be Alex and all the hundred or so men before him, but somehow he knows that they, too, had friends. Every single one of the people he’d been in centuries past had innocently come to Sanctum, and done nothing more than be open to experience and try to do the right thing by everyone, and they all had been loved. 

And then, as if that didn’t even matter at all, they’d been plucked from the universe and forced to give it all up. None of them got to stick around, but Murphy’s still here even after going to Bardo, and he knows he’s upset the cosmic cycle. Daniel’s never been this close to escape before. Murphy’s to be held responsible for this, he knows, and it’s all because he’d loved someone just a little too much for a little too long. 

He’s never met them, but whoever these transcended people are up above Bardo that are controlling Daniel’s punishment, he knows there’s no way that they understand the intricacies of human emotion, and what it is to  _ feel.  _ If they did, maybe they would know that what they’re doing to him and more importantly, the town at large, is so much worse than a sentence for a crime one man committed. If they did - 

Murphy stops suddenly in the middle of the empty street, eyes going wide. The thought he’s just had is completely and utterly insane, and already, he can think of about a thousand issues and problems with it that he’s got no way to fix. But - it could work. There’s a universe in which this could work, and he’s beaten the odds before. Nobody could stop him from doing it again. 

_ Not a chance,  _ Daniel says.  _ I’ve been in here a long time, but this is, by far, the most idiotic thing you’ve ever thought of.  _

He has to fight the urge to laugh, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Maybe that’s true,” he says aloud, “but if you disapprove, then I’m doing the right thing.”

_ On the contrary. I clearly haven’t given you enough credit this whole time. It’s a bold plan, and you’re even bolder for carrying it out - even if it will most certainly get you killed.  _

“Yeah,” he mutters, looking around the street, but still finding himself alone. He supposes after everything Sanctum’s seen, one man talking to himself isn’t all that odd. “That’s kind of what I’m counting on.”

_ You’d truly give up everything, just like that? _

Daniel says it as if it’s just as easy as that, and he sighs, looking far down the street in the direction of Bellamy’s house. He wants nothing more than to start running that way and never stop until he’s back in his arms, and he can pretend that what happened in the church didn’t happen at all, and that there isn’t a murderous psychopath taking refuge in his head. Maybe if he did that, he’d get a few more days before it all ended, but - he can’t do that to him. 

“It’s all been borrowed time,” he whispers, looking down the street for one, two more seconds before he tears his eyes away and turns his head, gaze landing on his true destination. “It’s all been extra, you know? I wasn’t supposed to have any of this.” 

Daniel doesn’t say anything to this. He can’t blame him for it, but now that he’s in true silence both from his mind and from the world around him, Murphy begins to feel afraid. This plan is the worst thing he’s ever come up with. It’s a long shot, a hail mary at best, but it’s also his only chance, and he’s well aware of it. Zev’s too powerful. Daniel isn’t going to stay caged forever. 

And Bellamy - well. If he took the time to find him and tell him what he was going to do, he’d never let him do it. He was willing to jump through the anomaly for him, and while Murphy wants him there, more than anything, he knows he can’t let him do that to himself, not when if the plan were to succeed, he’d have a whole life ahead of him. 

All of his other lives gave up the ones that they loved. Murphy’s no better than any of them, and it was selfish of him to pretend otherwise. Without another thought, he turns around, and begins walking to the cliffside. 

“You’ll be okay,” he whispers as he goes, speaking both to himself and the town he’s leaving behind him, well aware that no matter how this plays out, he’s never, ever going to see it again. “You’ll be okay,” he says, both a promise and an issue of regret. 

Murphy’s never been great at apologies, either, but he hopes Sanctum understands. 

* * *

“Well,  _ that  _ didn’t take long,” Zev declares as Murphy comes up to the top of the cliffside. It’s the very same spot that the anomaly had spat them out when they’d returned from Bardo, and despite the wreckage visible below and the reality of his circumstance for being here, it truly is beautiful. The waves of the ocean crash into the rocks on a repeating loop and bright flowers grow in the vibrant green grass. It’s nice, Murphy thinks. It’s a nice place to die. 

“You didn’t leave me with much choice,” Murphy says as he comes to a stop a fair distance away, so that Zev’s on the other side of the clearing from him. Raven stands close to his side, staring at Murphy intently. He wonders how much of all of this has been her own choice. 

Zev hums absentmindedly, leaning against the trunk of a tree. “No,” he finally agrees, “I suppose I didn’t, did I? At least you made the right call in the end. Now that you’re here - it’s time to continue our plan from all those years ago. Sanctum’s gone out of control in our absence. I think it’s time we burn the whole thing down and start from scratch, don’t you?”

_ Now that’s a plan,  _ Daniel says, but Murphy just shakes his head. He’s not sure when the best moment will be to do what he’s planning, but with both Zev and Raven here, he won’t have a good opportunity. 

“I’m not - I’ll let you bring him back to the surface,” Murphy says. “That’s what you’re after, right? You just want Daniel back?”

“Of course that’s what I want,” Zev nearly snaps. “Have you not been listening to  _ anything  _ I’ve said to you?”

Murphy wonders, for a moment, if he’d do the same in Zev’s place. If Bellamy were the one caged for thousands of years, would he be willing to do whatever it took to break him free, no matter who he hurt or how long the trail of anguish in his wake would be? Truth be told, he hesitates answering this, because he can’t completely say no. All anyone is after is love. It’s just love. He’d move mountains for Bellamy as is - he’s trying to do that  _ right now  _ \- and he knows that Zev thinks he’s doing the same. 

If the crimes being done are in the name of love, or in the name of doing the right thing, are they truly all that reprehensible? 

“Okay,” Murphy says, taking a few steps forwards until he’s standing in exactly the spot the anomaly had deposited him before. There’s no giant floating stone in the vicinity, which is going to make this a hundred times harder, but he’s not giving up yet - he just has to stall until he can figure it out. “I’ll let you do that, just - let me say goodbye, first?”

Zev’s eyes go wide and as soon as he’s spoken the words, Murphy regrets them. They’d tumbled out of his mouth in a moment of weakness where he’d forgotten why it is that he’d come up here alone in the first place. “You want to say goodbye?” Zev repeats, pushing away from the tree he’d been leaning against and standing up tall. 

“To the town,” Murphy quickly adds, gesturing at the wrecked scene behind them. “Just let me say goodbye to the town, you know? I just want a moment.” 

It’s too late, though. Zev’s seen right through him. “You’re insufferable,” he snaps, and then in the next second, he’s vanished. Raven doesn’t look fazed in the slightest as the man suddenly disappears, leaving behind an empty space that he used to take up. There’s a slight pause in the world, as nobody speaks or dares to move, both of them simply waiting to see what happens next. 

And then - Monty’s standing next to him. 

He stumbles a bit, eyes rapidly moving around his new setting. Zev’s standing just behind him, having used his abilities that Murphy doesn’t really understand to transport Monty here. He doesn’t move away from Monty, or say anything at all for a moment - he just stares at Murphy, a silent challenge being issued. 

“Oh, wow,” Monty says, recovering from his sudden transport. There’s no telling where he was before this, or what situation Zev’s torn him from, but the light in his eyes says that for now, he doesn’t care. “I haven’t been up here in a long time. It’s nicer than I remember it.” 

“Monty,” Murphy says, carefully, not taking his eyes off Zev, “you’ve got to get out of here.” 

If he hears him at all, he doesn’t say so. “It’s so green,” he carries on, staring at a small patch of flowers close to his feet. They’re a beautiful, shining yellow amidst a lush field of green, making it seem as though small pieces of the sun are buried in the earth. “It’s just - it’s so green. I had no idea.” 

Suddenly, a chill runs through his bones and Murphy’s eyes go wide. A memory he’s done his absolute best to bury comes racing back into the forefront of his mind, and it’s like he’s back in Echo’s house, the morning after her sacrifice, yelling at Jackson to get answers from Jasper’s ghost until it had literally possessed the man. 

_ “It’s going to happen soon,” Jasper had said about Monty’s impending demise. “It’s so green. He loves it here. I think he’s really going to love it here, you know?” _

At the time, he’d written it off as meaningless, most likely the result of Jasper’s confusion of having just been dead, but now as he watches Monty stare lovingly at the flowers beneath them, it all makes sense - far, far too late. 

“I should come here more often,” Monty’s saying, finally looking up into Murphy’s eyes, as if he’s just now noticed that he’s not alone. “I think I’d really love it here, you know?”

His breath hitches and he lunges forwards to grab the man’s shoulder, trying to push him away from them all. “Monty,  _ run!”  _ he cries. 

Like everything, though, Murphy’s actions are not enough. “Say goodbye,” Zev says, and then in one second, he’s moving behind Monty and reaching up, snapping his neck without a word. 

_ “No!”  _ he yells, but Monty’s no longer alive to hear it. His body falls into the bed of flowers, eyes open and unseeing.  _ He’s really going to love it here,  _ plays on repeat through his mind, over and over, a reminder that he hadn’t interpreted the words as they were meant to be heard - a warning of Monty’s final resting place. He’d let his weakness show, and he’d forgotten all that had been told to him, and Monty’s dead because of it. 

He had tried to do the right thing. He always had  _ tried,  _ he swears, but it’s not as though that means much when nearly all his friends are dead due to his mistakes. 

“Was that what you wanted?” Zev says, stepping over Monty’s body to come closer to him, as if he’s already forgotten about what he’s done. “Was that heartfelt enough for you? Or did you want more?”

“Stop,” Murphy begs, as if that’s ever worked before. “I didn’t mean - you  _ know  _ that that’s not what I wanted! I was going to come with you!” 

Zev scoffs at this. “It’s high time you realize I don’t care what  _ you  _ want,” he says. “I’ll put it to you like this, since you clearly aren’t capable of understanding what’s going on here. Either you break Daniel free,  _ right now,  _ or you watch this whole town die as Murphy.” 

“No,” he says, and he knows he needs to stall longer, just until he can work out his escape, but better words just won’t come. “That’s - I already said I would do it. I said I would do it!”

“You say a lot of things,” comes the reply, “and frankly, I’m exhausted from listening to you all the time. I’m still waiting for you to bring Daniel back.”

_ I told you,  _ Daniel says, sounding all too smug,  _ this plan was idiotic. There’s no one in the world who can challenge Zev.  _

“What else am I going to do?” Murphy cries, gesturing wildly, trying to ignore Monty’s body below him or else he’d burst into tears. “Where else am I going to go? You’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you? We can end this  _ here,  _ just me and you!”

Zev pauses for only a moment. “We could,” he says, slowly, but then softly shakes his head. “Problem is, I just don’t want to.”

And then he’s gone yet again, vanished into thin air, even as Murphy reaches out to try and grab hold of him to force him to stay. Desperately, he turns over to Raven, stumbling across the clearing to stand closer to her. “Please,” he calls out, hoping that even just a piece of his old friend is in there, “you  _ know  _ this is wrong!”

She’s not looking at him, though. Her gaze is focused on Monty’s body, laid to rest with the flowers all around him. Raven stands silently, biting her lip as she simply stares, gaze finally raising to meet his. “He was Troubled,” she says, slowly. “So that means - it was going to happen sooner or later, so - he should be thankful he didn’t feel any pain. Sanctum is safer now that he’s gone.” She’s hesitating as she speaks, though. The words are nothing more than what she’s been told, not what she actually believes. 

Murphy looks at her, truly  _ looks  _ at her for a moment, and with Zev gone and everything in perspective, she’s nothing more than a terrified Troubled person. It’s the same revelation that he’d had when he’d confronted Jaha in the church, and learned the truth about the priest’s intentions. The Troubled are always scared. Jaha thought he was doing the right thing, however twisted it was, and so has Raven. She’s simply taken up the mantle left before her, using anger and power to hide how truly scared she’s been this whole time. 

“It’s not too late, you know,” he says, softly, though he knows she hears him. “It’s not too late to go back. You’re not too far gone, Raven, I know that you’re not.”

“Jaha told me-”

“There’s always going to be a Jaha,” he cuts her off, shaking his head. “There’s always going to be somebody who hurts others to take control of a situation that scares them, but it doesn’t have to be  _ you.  _ You just - it’s about morality, remember? I know you’re terrified, maybe even of yourself, but that doesn’t mean you have to become what Jaha told you that you are. You can make your own destiny. You can do better.”

“Do better,” she whispers, repeating him and blinking in shock and confusion, but she’s saved from having to say anything more by Zev’s sudden reappearance. He has purposefully come to a spot in front of both of them, so that he, Raven, and Murphy are in a triangle of sorts in the clearing at the top of the cliffs. Only - Zev’s not alone. 

In one arm, he holds Emori, and in the other - there’s Bellamy, standing tall as ever despite his literal abduction. When they see Monty’s body and just where it is they’ve been brought to, Emori cries out in pain and shock, but Bellamy only stares at his fallen friend, a deep sadness etched into his face. Murphy knows him well enough to know that, just like himself, he’s taking on the guilt of yet another death that could have been prevented. 

“So!” Zev calls out, “Is this Daniel in front of me, or is it still  _ you?”  _

He already knows the answer, quite clearly, dragging it out because he finds amusement in torturing him. “Stop this,” he says, knowing if he takes a step forward to try and rescue Emori and Bellamy, they’ll both be killed - but they also will if he doesn’t. 

_ Tick, tock,  _ Daniel taunts him.  _ Are you going to enact this plan of yours, or are you going to watch everyone you love die?  _

“Time’s up,” Zev declares. It’s all going far too fast for Murphy to think at all. He can barely keep up with what’s going on in front of him, so much so that he feels completely at a loss and unable to intervene. All he can do is stare at Bellamy and the imminent danger that he’s in, knowing that he’s done this to him, even if he tried everything he could to go about this alone. 

In all his lifetimes, he’s always been surrounded by people. That’s always been how it’s meant to be - and now, perhaps as punishment for sticking around when he wasn’t meant to, he’s going to watch them all die. 

Zev moves just one muscle, and instinct takes over.  _ “No!”  _ he shouts, but only after a moment does he realize he’s not the only one who’s spoken. There’s fire burning around Raven’s hands and her eyes are narrow, mouth open from yelling right along with him. 

They glance at each other, both of them, incredibly, after the same thing. Perhaps it was seeing Emori in peril that snapped Raven out of her daze, or maybe his words had more impact on her than he’d thought, but either way, her anger and fear have now been turned against Zev. 

The two of them are and always have been the angel and the devil of Sanctum, both fighting to free a town that’s condemned them from the start. If Murphy’s going to die here, he could do it in worse company. 

Raven’s sudden outcry has distracted Zev, who’s looking over at her curiously. “You still love her, don’t you?” he asks, tilting his head in pure wonder. “How horribly human of you.”

Quietly, Bellamy starts trying to move away from where he’s being held in order to come closer to him, because he’s brash and bold and a whole other list of things that Murphy loves him for. Zev’s no fool, though, and he reaffirms his hold on Bellamy’s arm, stopping him from moving away at all. 

“You’re already getting what you want,” Murphy calls out, wanting nothing more than to run and pry Bellamy free himself. “Isn’t that enough for you? Why even bother with all of this?”

“Even after all this time,” Zev says, “you still don’t understand, do you? I don’t  _ need  _ a reason to do anything. I’ve spent thousands of years locked away and alone. You have no idea what it feels like to watch the man you love forget who you are, for a hundred times in a row, and fall in love with someone else!”

Murphy’s quiet for a moment, his attention still focused on Bellamy, just as Raven’s fixed her gaze on Emori. “You’re right,” he says, “I don’t know what that’s like. I’m sorry.” He can still recall the memory of Daniel’s that Zev had brought out back in the church, of the two of them on the run from angry villagers who they’d just given Troubles to. He thinks of how, even though he’d just done a despicable act, Zev had been willing to do anything for the man he loved, and he adds, “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

Zev’s taken aback, for a moment, but he recovers quickly. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s over now. It’s all over now, so it’s time for you to say your precious  _ goodbyes,  _ and then we can usher in a new era, the one we’ve been owed for all this time.”

“No,” he says, “no, it’s  _ not  _ over yet! Daniel wouldn’t want you to do this!”

_ Wouldn’t I? _

“Unless Daniel tells me that himself,” Zev says, “I don’t particularly care. It’s time for  _ you  _ to feel what I felt, all those years ago, when they took him away from me.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy speaks up, eyes sad as he stares at him. Murphy’s heart tears itself in two as he realizes what he’s trying to get across with that. He’s accepted his fate. He’s accepted the fact that he’s going to die here, and he’s okay with that, perhaps merely for the fact that Murphy’s still alive in front of him. 

He’s losing hope quickly that the answer to the flaw in his plan is going to appear, when suddenly, a burst of fire flies across the clearing. It  _ slams  _ into Zev’s chest, who cries out in surprise, stumbling back a couple steps and allowing both Emori and Bellamy a chance to escape. Rather than engulf him in flames from head to toe, like the same attack did to Clarke hours previous, Zev merely bats a hand at the flames and snuffs them out - but they clearly still hurt him, something that should not have been possible. 

Raven walks across the clearing, standing tall, her eyes glowing a bright blue. She’s never been able to access her super strength without first exposing herself to Troubled blood, and taking away a Trouble along with a life, but now it seems that she’s done so by pure willpower alone. “How’s this for  _ horribly human _ ?” she taunts, throwing one, two, three more balls of fire. 

Zev dodges all of her attacks, but his eyes are narrowing, quite clearly having met more of a match than he was expecting. “I give you access to all the power your family has ever stolen,” he says, “and this is how you choose to repay me?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she’s not talking to him - she’s talking to the three of them standing behind her, and Murphy suspects most of all, she’s addressing Emori. “I thought Jaha was right. I thought  _ you _ were right, and that I was helping the town. But I don’t have to continue this pattern.”

Murphy may have broken the cycle of Daniel’s punishment and that of the Troubles, but here, right now, Raven’s just destroyed that of Sanctum’s true villains - the ordinary people who thought the right thing could only be accomplished through power and fear. Both of these repetitive cycles, he thinks, needed to be broken, neither more important than the other. The angel and the devil, he supposes, were never good or bad. They both simply had parts to play. 

“Murphy,” she calls, still keeping Zev busy with all the strength she can muster, “if you’re here to do what I think you’re here to do - do it quickly, okay? I don’t know how long I can do this.” 

Bellamy looks over at him curiously, but he only nods. He’s got no idea how Raven knows what he’s here to do, but she’s always been the smartest one in the room. That still hasn’t changed, not even a year and a half later. 

“Raven,” Emori whispers, moving to the center of the clearing before stopping, unable to interfere in what’s going on, but so desperately wanting to. 

“I’m sorry,” Raven says, and then, “I do still love you. I do. I hope that you know that.”

Emori lets out a long, shaky breath, perhaps knowing what’s coming - and already having come to terms with this inevitability well over a year ago. “I do,” she says. “I do know. I love you, too.”

Zev’s just shaking his head, still deflecting each one of Raven’s attacks, too distracted by doing that to do anything else. “You know that I could break you in two, if I wanted,” he snaps. 

Raven turns to look at them all, for just a moment, and despite what she’s doing and how they all know this will end, she’s smiling. “Oh, yeah?” she challenges, the flames around her hands burning ever brighter. “I’d like to see you try.” 

She throws out both a ball of fire and her arm, both of which Zev catches, and then they vanish. Emori lets out a sob as they disappear, racing over to the cliffside to look down on the town, as if trying to see where in the streets they’ve taken their fight. If Murphy well and truly listens to the town below he thinks he can hear the roar of fire being shot through the streets, but this could also be wishful thinking. 

Raven could already be dead. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, reaching out to take his hand without hesitation, “what’s going on? What was Raven talking about? What are you here to do?”

He’s asking, not because he doesn’t trust his plan, but because he wants to help him with it - and this alone makes his heart hurt. It means everything to see him again, one last time, but it’s so much harder to move forwards with this while he’s here. It hurts too much. 

“You need to get to safety,” he whispers, holding Bellamy’s hand tight in his own, never wanting to let go. “I have one last idea to save Sanctum, and everyone in it, but - you can’t follow me, Bell. Not this time.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere.” His reply is instantaneous, no hesitation slowing down his words at all. “You know that, and you’re  _ not  _ getting rid of me. We’ve done too much for you to try and leave me alone, now.” 

He just shakes his head, looking into Bellamy’s eyes and seeing nothing but patience and kindness, and understanding why Daniel Lee is willing to kill him to get his own love back. “I’m not supposed to be here,” he whispers. “I was never supposed to come back from Bardo. All of this, everything we’ve had together - I’ve been here on borrowed time.” 

“No,” Bellamy says, “no, I refuse to accept that. You don’t get to give up on me, Murphy, not after everything.” 

“It’s not giving up,” he says. “It’s setting things right.” 

His heart and resolve threaten to give up on him but he holds true to what he knows what must be done and breaks away from Bellamy, taking a couple steps back, forcing his hand free of his grip. Bellamy doesn’t move to follow him, pain and anguish written all over his face as he watches him turn away. 

There’s still no stone that he can use anywhere in the vicinity, but he doesn’t have time to check. Any moment now Zev’s going to come back and if that happens, his one chance to get this done will be taken from him. There’s only one thing left to do, and it’s something that he’s well practiced out. 

Murphy walks to the center of the clearing, turns his head towards the sky, and begins to scream. 

“Hey!” he shouts, as loudly as he possibly can, and then for good measure, waves his arms as if capturing the sky’s attention. “I know you’re listening to me. I know you’re watching us! I need to talk to you!”

He’s met with silence. “Murphy?” Bellamy asks behind him, voice hesitant, perhaps afraid that he’s finally lost his mind. 

_ “Hey!”  _ he tries again, throwing common sense out the window and jumping up and down a few times, still waving his arms and shouting his lungs out. “I know that you can hear me! I’m not going to shut up until you let me up there to talk to you!” 

_ They refuse to interfere, no matter what happens down here,  _ Daniel reminds him, laughing at his plight. Zev had once said the exact same words to him, back at the church, and if that’s true, then it means that the transcended beings way up in the sky know what’s going on even if they don’t act on it - meaning that they  _ can  _ see him, and hear him, and should they choose to, they can open the anomaly up and let him go up there and have a conversation. 

Truth be told, Murphy’s hoping that they take pity on him. 

His arms are getting sore and he’s running out of things to yell for attention, the volume of his voice decreasing as he starts giving up hope. It was a long shot, he knew that going in, but he didn’t think that he’d be stopped this early on in the plan. He didn’t think that Monty would have to die and Raven would have to sacrifice herself just so that he wouldn’t even get a chance to succeed. 

And then - the anomaly opens up. 

It looks different than all the times he’s seen it before, though. Rather than green, the dominant colour of the vortex that erupts into existence in front of them is dark red, reminding him eerily of the colour of blood. This one seems less stable than the others, as well, the edges of the gateway shaking as it fills the air, as if threatening to give in on itself at any moment. 

Before he can even think about entering, there’s a hand on his shoulder and Bellamy’s already come up to stand by his side. “I told you,” he says, “it’s you and me. I’m coming with you, and there’s nothing you can do to get rid of me.”

Murphy gazes at him sadly, briefly moving his eyes to stare over his shoulder at Emori. Tears are spilling down her cheeks but she nods, knowing exactly what he’s asking of her. In another life, if he had more time, he’d take a moment to tell Emori that she’s one of the strongest people he’s ever met. No matter what happened, or how she’d been hurt, she always carried on. 

She shouldn’t  _ have  _ to be so strong, but selfishly in this moment, he’s glad that she is. 

There’s a lot he wants to say to Bellamy as he turns back to him, but no words seem to come. Instead, he just reaches up to cup his cheek, whispers “I’m sorry,” and kisses him, softly. 

_ I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. I’m sorry for the pain that I know my existence has given you. I’m sorry for not telling you the truth all the time, I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t bring you everything that you deserved. Most of all - I’m sorry that you fell in love with me, because no matter how much you wanted me to be, I never could last forever.  _

He doesn’t know if that’s his thoughts or Daniel’s, but at this point, it doesn’t really matter. Murphy, Daniel, Daniel, Murphy - it’s all the same. They’re both after the same thing, anyways. They always have been. 

Somewhere far below, a woman screams, and though there’s no way to tell for sure he knows that it’s Raven. Emori flinches at the sound and he breaks away from the kiss, offering Bellamy a sad smile. Without a word, Emori moves up behind him and pulls the glove off her hand, gently placing her hand on Bellamy’s exposed wrist. 

“Emori?” he asks, looking over at her with wide eyes. “What are you doing? You know that you can’t hurt me, but why would you-”

“You can’t feel pain, Bell,” Murphy says, “but that doesn’t mean you aren’t experiencing it.” 

Bellamy’s eyes widen, his knees already shaking from the strain he can’t even feel. “Murphy, don’t,” he says, trying to pull free from Emori’s grip, but she only tightens her hold. He’s growing weak, so much so that her strength is far more than his. “Please. Please, don’t leave.”

“If you could come with me,” he says, breath hitching as he forces down a sob, “I would take you. I would. I wouldn’t even hesitate. I hope you know that.”

Behind them, the anomaly shrinks slightly, the ticket to Sanctum’s salvation starting to vanish. Time’s running out, and with great pain, he takes a step back towards it, away from Bellamy and everything that he’s ever wanted. 

“Promise me,” Bellamy says, legs giving out as he sinks to the ground, furiously holding onto consciousness, “that you’ll come back. You have to come  _ back.”  _

He can’t promise it. He’s not coming back. He’s not - “I promise,” he lies, even just to get that horrible look of anguish off Bellamy’s face. Then, because he knows that this is the last chance he’ll get, he continues, “Thank you for all the time you’ve given me, Bellamy. I hope you know that it means more than you’ll ever know.”

“Come back,” Bellamy whispers, but then his body gives out, finally declaring that it’s had enough with all of this pain he hasn’t ever been able to feel. 

Emori’s kneeling down next to him, slowly removing her hand when she sees that he’s out cold. “Can you really fix all this?” she whispers, looking up at him with heavy, hopeless eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he tells her honestly, not having the heart to lie twice in a span of minutes. “I have to try, though.” 

“Yeah,” she mutters, wiping tears from her eyes as she nods. “Okay. I’ll get him somewhere, hide until whatever you’re going to do is over.”

He takes a breath, turning back to the anomaly. “Thank you,” he says. “I wish I could have done more for you. For everyone.”

She’s quiet for a moment, but then, “For the record, Murphy, you’re not that bad.”

_ I don’t like you very much,  _ was one of the first things that she’d said to him, back on Arkadia island when they’d tried and failed to rescue Raven. If anything, she has even more reason to hate him now, but her admission brings a smile to his face. “You’re not so bad, yourself,” he says. 

“I know,” she replies, and then gestures towards the dark red anomaly that’s rapidly disappearing. “Now, go save us all.” She doesn’t even know what he’s hoping to accomplish, but her confidence is enough that he’s able to tear his eyes away from Bellamy and take another step forward, allowing the anomaly to make contact with his skin. 

_ I underestimated you again,  _ Daniel says. 

“I would’ve thought you’d be used to that by now,” Murphy says, and then he walks into the anomaly and leaves Sanctum and everything he’s ever wanted behind. 


	16. gives time his wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So swift I scarce have had time to look on,  
> And the incidents note of each passing day.  
> Continual employment gives time his wings,  
> While busy we heed not his flight;  
> Not so with the idler, he saunters and sings,  
> And she is too long for him; and the night."

He and Bellamy never really had a chance to slow down and think about things, not ever, but there was a moment, once, that he never wants to let go of. It had been after he’d woken up in Bellamy’s house for the first time, after his daring escape from Jaha and the Disciples on Arkadia island, just before they’d left his house to go and meet Jackson and the rest of their friends at the veterinarian office. 

Despite the threat looming over them, even at that time, Murphy had taken a moment to truly observe every aspect of Bellamy’s house. He’d collected a multitude of knick knacks from various places, and nearly every free table was stacked full with books that he had no doubt Bellamy had read countless times over. 

The stove, though, is what really garnered his attention. At first, nothing seemed out of place about it, but when Murphy looked just above the dials he saw several sticky notes not only stuck onto the top of the stove, but taped on so that they wouldn’t fall off.  _ Careful - is the burner on?  _ one of them said, while another read  _ If the dial is on, it’s HOT!  _

He couldn’t help it - he started to laugh. At this very moment, Bellamy had come around the corner, seeing what it is that had drawn his attention. “Ah, come on,” he’d said. “You don’t have to laugh at me.”

“No, no, I’m not laughing  _ at  _ you,” he’d replied. “It’s just - it’s endearing.” 

“Endearing,” Bellamy had said in response, “I can work with that, I guess.” 

And Murphy had just kept on laughing, a smile pulling at his lips and a sparkle in his eyes that was reflected right in Bellamy’s own. He watched the other man open the front closet, staring cluelessly at the coats hanging up inside and craning his neck to look out the front window, trying to guess the weather just by staring at it. 

He’d rolled his eyes before opening the front door, sticking his hand out to feel the air. “It’s not that cold,” he’d reported back. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

“Aw, you  _ do  _ care,” Bellamy had said, but he’d smiled gratefully and chose his jacket accordingly. 

“Of course I do,” Murphy had shot back instantly, a rare moment of pure sincerity amidst all the teasing, but - it was true. It seemed obvious to him that he cared, and Bellamy should know that, because it wasn’t fair for him to live in doubt if he was.  _ I’m with you,  _ he’d promised only moments earlier and he’d meant it, as corny as it sounded. 

“I know,” Bellamy replied, a confirmation both that he knew, and that he’d heard all of Murphy’s silent thoughts. He was good like that - he always knew exactly how much to say and how much to leave as a mutual understanding between them. 

He knew, and he understood, and there was nothing more either of them had to say. 

It seems like such a simple moment, especially now, after everything else that’s happened between them and to everyone they know, but - it’s one Murphy holds close to his heart. Even just for a time, everything had been okay. It was easy. He’d been sure that that could be his life forever, and that he’d never have to live in a world where he wasn’t sure that, no matter what happened, Bellamy would be there to love him whenever he found his way home. 

All he’s ever wanted, more than anything, was to have a peaceful life with Bellamy at his side. The rest of it was simply extra - if he had him, then he had enough, and he would never want for anything. It was simple. It had always felt so, so simple, until that dream was ripped away. 

Murphy should have treasured those moments more. Now, he knows he’ll never have another like it. He’ll never have that silent understanding with anyone else, and the thought of living in a seaside paradise with the love of his life is no more than a pipe dream. He longs to hear the wind chimes on Bellamy’s front porch just one more time, so that they can sing him into a delusional happiness as they so often do, but he knows he never will. 

It was a nice fantasy, for a time, to pretend that they could be happy. It was nice to pretend.  _ Parting, such sweet sorrow,  _ he thinks, and he knows he never truly understood that until now. Bellamy gave him a way to pretend that his fate could be altered, and that he could have everything he wanted - he gave him hope. 

Murphy just wishes that, at the end of it all, he could have given him more than a broken goodbye. 

* * *

The blood red anomaly spits him out several inches above the ground. He stumbles when his feet don’t find a solid landing immediately, causing him to fall to his hands and knees with a grimace. Whatever transcended beings are watching him right now, he’s pretty sure he’s just made a bad first impression. Beneath his hands, the wood feels firm and so he - 

Murphy stops mid-motion, blinking down in surprise at the very real feeling wood beneath him. Cautiously, he runs a finger along it, expecting it to give way or vanish from existence as he does so, but it stays completely intact beneath him. A soft smile forms on his face as he lets out a breath in pure and utter wonderment. Whatever he’d been expecting to have happen on his journey to meet these beings, it wasn’t this. 

He’s on Sanctum’s docks. 

As he raises his head and slowly rises to his feet, he looks around, taking in the sight before him with wide eyes. The docks themselves look completely how they used to before they’d been destroyed during the year and a half he’d been in Bardo for, except at the end of them, there are no boats, and there is no ocean. Instead, the wooden docks simply give way to a vast sky of purple stars. The entire universe seems to be at display in front of him, all awash in a violet glow, and though he can breathe just fine, he gets an eerie sense that if he were to walk off the edge of the docks, he’d be swallowed up by the cosmos behind him. 

The anomaly vanishes behind him without a sound, leaving no trace that it was ever there. Silence hangs over the docks and Murphy turns in a full circle, gazing up at the scene all around him. “This can’t be real,” he mutters, but deep down, somehow, he knows that it is. If Daniel’s still there, he’s completely and utterly silent, which only adds to the harrowing atmosphere. 

Just as he’s about to start screaming again, one of the brighter stars in the vast purple sky all around him begins to move. It falls from its perch above him and slowly floats through the universe until it’s hovering in midair at the other end of the docks, facing him. It’s nothing more than a ball of bright light, really, but it feels as though it’s watching him somehow. 

“Hello?” he tries, hesitantly taking a step forward towards it. For a few seconds, absolutely nothing happens, until he blinks and suddenly he’s not alone. 

Hope Diyoza stands before him, looking exactly like she had been the last time Murphy had seen her all that time ago on the cliffside, but - it’s not her. They might be appearing to him using her form and appearance, but it’s definitely  _ not  _ Hope standing in front of him. He can tell immediately, based solely on the calm expression on her face and the way she holds herself. She stands tall and confident, but awkwardly, as if she’s not used to having a physical form. With a short laugh, he supposes the being in front of him actually isn’t. 

“Murphy,” they say, and though their voice sounds identical to what he remembers Hope’s sounded like, it’s still not her. “I suppose this meeting has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

He swallows and takes a long, deep breath, calming his nerves before he nods. After all, he’s talking to what might as well be a celestial being - he can’t afford to mess this up now. “I guess it has,” he says. “Thanks for the invitation.”

The corner of Hope’s lips curl into a smile. “It was the first time we have ever been called upon in such a manner,” they say. “How could we refuse?”

Murphy cringes slightly as he thinks about how absolutely insane he must have looked, screaming up at the sky on Sanctum’s cliffs, but at least he’d got their attention. “It worked,” he says, “didn’t it?”

“It did,” they agree, clasping their hands behind their back. With the purple lights behind them, silhouetting their figure, they look infinitely more intimidating. Given how they had made their entrance, he supposes that each soft blinking light above him that he’d assumed was a star is actually another transcended being, and once again, he’s reminded of just how small he is in the grand scheme of things. 

They don’t say anything else, leaving it up to him to carry on the conversation. “I have to ask,” he ventures, “why do you look like Hope?”

Upon his words, they glance down at their body, perhaps for the first time viewing what form they’re appearing to him in. “I’m not her,” they say, looking back up at him. 

“No, I know that,” he says, “but why do you look like her?”

Once again, they smile softly, but it’s far more annoying the second time around. It makes it seem like they know a secret that he doesn’t, and they’re laughing at him for it. “Humanity is a very emotion driven species,” they finally reply. “For a race such as yours, we appear to you in the body of someone who meant something to you. Sometimes it can be your greatest friend, or your greatest love.” 

He bites his lip, shaking his head. “I barely knew her,” he says, softly, feeling that familiar pit of guilt in his stomach start to churn as he recalls their brief confrontation on the cliffside that led to her demise. 

“In your case,” they continue, “this is the body of your greatest regret.” 

After Hope had been killed, Murphy had vowed to make sure nothing like that had happened again - and then he’d failed, and he’d failed, and he’d failed again. He can’t count the number of times he’s broken the vow he made in her name and so yes, he supposes, Hope Diyoza signifies his greatest regret. The acknowledgement of this brings nothing but shame into his heart and he sighs, long and slow. “Great,” he says, quietly. “I’m so glad that I asked.”

They may know all the secrets of the universe, but the being in front of him still gazes at him sadly, as if they truly understand how he’s feeling. “I’m not her,” they repeat, as if that’s any consolation at all. “If you like, you can refer to me as the Judge.”

“The Judge,” he repeats, pushing down his feelings of guilt and doing his best to focus on the task at hand. “And what is it that you judge?”

“Everyone and everything,” they say. “I am the one who decides when there is a species somewhere in the universe that is ready to join us in transcendence.” 

Murphy shakes his head. “Okay, well that’s actually not what I’m here for, so-”

“It is,” they say, tilting their head to the side, “even if you aren’t aware of it, yet.”

“Right,” he says, slowly, his understanding of what’s going on quickly leaving him. “That’s really not what I’m here for, though. I don’t care about transcendence - no offence, though.” 

Their eyes shine and they have the nerve to chuckle at this. “Transcendence offers immortality,” they say. “It offers the ability to know everything that has ever been known, and see everything that has ever been seen. It is the power to share and experience all that has ever occurred in the universe, from the dawn of time. Most importantly, it offers true and eternal peace, something that no species can achieve without us. Are you sure that is not what you are here for?”

Murphy hesitates, for only a moment. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m pretty sure.” 

The Judge shrugs, fixing him with a look that makes it clear they view him as nothing more than an insect they could easily squash. “I see,” they say. “Then - I suppose, if we must, we should address the Daniel Lee situation.” 

It absolutely infuriates him that they pretended he wanted something else when they clearly know why he’s here, but he does his best to not let his anger speak for him. “You’ve been watching what’s going on in Sanctum this whole time, haven’t you?” he says, remembering what Zev had told him about the transcended beings, and how they knew everything that went on, even if they didn’t interfere. 

“We have.”

“Then, you know what Zev’s doing, and you know that Daniel’s  _ this  _ close to breaking free,” he says, gesturing vaguely at his own head. “Surely, you know what they’re doing is wrong.”

The Judge pauses, looking down at hands that belong to a dead woman. “We do.” 

Murphy hadn’t been expecting this clear of an admission. “Then do something about it!” he says, moving closer to them. “Zev and Daniel are  _ your  _ people, aren’t they? They were transcended at one point. Nobody down there can defeat them, but you can!” 

He can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees a flash of genuine regret on the Judge’s face. “We have already interfered far more than is custom,” they say. “Anymore, and I’m afraid we would offset the balance of the universe.”

“That’s bullshit,” he snaps, well aware he should be showing more restraint when speaking to a being far more powerful than he could ever dream of, but truthfully he doesn’t care that much. “You’re really willing to watch a whole town of innocent people die? Is that really what you want?”

“No!” they say, quickly, but then pausing to recover some semblance of calmness in the face of his accusations. “We believed that what we had already done would have a stronger effect in the long term. Sadly, we were incorrect.”

Murphy narrows his eyes. “What you had already done?” he repeats. “You put them in jail. Instead of just undoing the Troubles, and undoing what they had already done, you created some complex punishment that’s done nothing but hurt people!” 

“If we had simply taken away the Troubles,” they say, “then they would not understand the gravity of what they had done.”

“Why does  _ that  _ matter?”

The Judge lets out a breath. “Daniel and Zev,” they say, “were -  _ are  _ an experiment.” 

He pauses, faltering slightly, unsure how to take that. “An experiment?” 

“Yes,” they respond, turning away from him slightly to gaze out at the vast collection of stars - perhaps, he thinks, unwilling to look him in the eye. “What they did to the people of Sanctum was wrong, there is no contesting that fact. However, a unique situation arose with their actions that allowed us to test a theory we had been working on for quite some time - as well as test humanity at large.” 

Murphy scoffs, shaking his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Allow me to explain,” they say, slowly turning back around to face him. “And - allow me to extend an apology, for all that this has cost.” 

He’s already pretty sure he’s not going to want to accept that, but he gestures at them to continue. There’s no telling how time is passing down in Sanctum while he’s up here, or if any time has gone by at all, so he supposes that he’s not in a rush. 

“As I told you before,” they begin, “I am the Judge. I watch various species throughout the world, and determine if they are ready to accept the gift that is transcendence and join us in the higher consciousness of the universe. For the past few thousand years, humanity has been the species I have watched the closest. There are the makings of a utopian society within the species, yet there is a volatility to humans that has hindered my decision. You all are, to put it simply, the most emotion driven species I have ever seen.

“Daniel and Zev, two thousand years ago, broke our most sacred rule - the decree that, no matter what, we do not interfere in the matters of the universe below us. No transcended being had ever done that before. We knew that we had to punish them for their transgression, but we did not have a set means in place to do so.” 

They pause, seemingly unwilling to continue. “I already know all of this,” Murphy says, filling the silence. He hadn’t actually known that humanity was being watched for transcendence, but he doesn’t want to think about this too long - the knowledge that everyone’s actions are being scrutinized to see if they’re ‘worthy’ of something they didn’t necessarily even want makes his skin crawl. 

Again, the Judge sighs before continuing. “Transcendence offers immortality, as I mentioned before,” they say. “We could not... _ remove  _ Daniel and Zev from the universe. As such, we decided to - what is the human expression? Use two stones to get a bird?”

“Kill two birds with one stone,” Murphy mutters, somehow not surprised at their choice of words. 

The Judge nods. “Yes, we decided to do that. We would attempt to rehabilitate Daniel and Zev. If, after the duration of their sentence was up, our attempts at this worked - then we would pardon them of their crimes, and deem humanity as worthy of transcendence.”

“I don’t understand,” he says. “How could the cycle that you put Daniel on, of taking on a new identity every twenty-two years, be considered rehabilitation?” 

“On one hand, it would show him how much sorrow and suffering he’d inflicted on Sanctum’s population first hand,” they reply, “and on the other, we hoped that being in the presence of humans would fundamentally change his way of thinking. We wanted to know if he would become a better person if he were exposed to love and friendship, which from my understanding, seems to be what humanity most often gives one another. By seeing the results of this experiment, it would answer the question as to whether or not humanity is fundamentally good enough to change someone who had done a horrible crime for the better.” 

Murphy pauses, taking this in, sure that he must be misunderstanding what they’re saying to him. “Let me get this straight,” he says, slowly. “You inflicted untold suffering and countless deaths onto an innocent town full of people just trying to survive over a span of two thousand years, just because you wanted to see if you could make someone a better person through the magical powers of love and friendship?” 

To their credit, the Judge has the decency to look slightly ashamed. “Yes,” they say, “we did.” 

“Well, then,” Murphy snaps, “how’s that working out for you?”

“Not as well as we had hoped it would,” they reply, perhaps not understanding his sarcasm or not caring enough to respond to it. “Daniel and Zev still appear to have the same goals and ideals as they did two thousand years ago.”

He scoffs at this. “You don’t say!”

“However,” they say, “the experiment has not been a complete failure.” 

Despite what he’s just been told, this is the most incredulous thing the Judge has said to him so far. “The woman whose face you’re wearing didn’t have to die,” he says. “But sure, go ahead and tell me how this whole thing hasn’t been a failure.” 

“You have changed,” they say, continuing on despite his harsh words. “Maybe you cannot see it now, but you are a different person than I knew you to be two thousand years ago.”

Murphy pauses, taken aback for a moment. “I’m not Daniel,” he says, slowly. 

“No, you are not,” they agree, “but you also are, at the very same time.” 

There’s no voice in his head telling him otherwise, but Murphy’s confident that this can’t be true. “I’m not,” he repeats, firmer this time. 

“Throughout all the lives you have taken on, Daniel has always been the core of who you were,” they explain. “Your memories and your experiences may have been different each and every time, but your determination, your drive, and your passion - all of this stems from Daniel Lee.” 

Back on the cliffside, before he’d come here, it had truly felt like Daniel’s thoughts had merged with his own for a moment - with a sinking feeling, Murphy wonders if that’s because they actually  _ had.  _ This whole time, maybe he’d been more Daniel than he cared to admit. Standing in front of the Judge, here on this faux version of Sanctum’s docks, it’s becoming a lot harder to pretend he’s any better than the man he used to be. “Maybe that’s true,” he admits, “but Zev hasn’t changed at all.” 

The Judge nods. “By keeping him in isolation, away from his love and connection, we thought Zev might understand the true horror of what he was doing,” they say, “but if anything, we worsened the attributes we hoped to change.” 

“You can’t separate people from love and hope that they’ll be better,” he finds himself saying. “Love is what  _ makes  _ people better. If you really know all the secrets of the universe, then you should have realized that a long time ago.” 

Somehow, this makes the Judge smile. “This experiment has shown that love is humanity’s greatest strength,” they agree, “and yet, it is also the source of their greatest weaknesses. Daniel and Zev would not have done what they did without love acting as a driving force, do you not agree?”

“You took away their love,” he argues. “They’ve only been fighting to get it back.” 

The Judge, though, waves their hand dismissively. “Abstract concepts such as this have never been rooted in logic,” they say. “They’re impossible to measure, and more importantly, they’re impossible to draw morality from. If committed in the name of love, are crimes still sinful? Should we allow Daniel and Zev to continue to wreak havoc and not intervene, if it is simply love that they desire?”

He’s losing the thread and relevance of this conversation, so with a shake of his head he brings it back to his main goal. “Look, it doesn’t really matter at this point,” he says. “Your experiment, as messed up as it was, failed. Daniel and Zev need to be stopped for good, and the Troubles need to be taken away from Sanctum. Surely, you and I can both agree on that.”

“We do agree,” they say. “It’s a shame, really. The experiment was so close to concluding as is. Only one more life, and Daniel’s sentence would have been over. Perhaps the results would have been different if things had carried on as they were meant to.”

Murphy blinks in surprise. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

The Judge doesn’t seem to understand why this news has affected him so much. “Daniel’s original punishment was to live a hundred lives as a regular human amidst the chaos caused by the Troubles,” they explain. “You, Murphy, are life number ninety-nine.” 

_ Ninety-nine.  _ He remembers back in Bardo, how Zev had explained that his life count was getting close to a hundred, but he’d never specified an exact number. “There was only one more cycle left?” he asks, eyes wide. “And then - it would have been over?”

“Yes,” the Judge says. “We would have decided if Daniel and Zev had been changed for the better, and if humanity could transcend, after only one more life.” 

“Oh,” he whispers, unsure how to take this. Would it have been better for everyone, then, if he’d willingly let his own identity go and let the cycle go on for yet another turn? Or had he done the right thing by interrupting it?

If the Judge is aware of his inner turmoil, they don’t comment on it. “No matter,” they say. “The experiment has concluded and failed, simply because you have become aware of it.”

He nods, trying to steady his breathing. “What happens now, then?” he asks. “You can take away the Troubles, then, can’t you?”

The Judge looks up at the sky, gaze bouncing back and forth between the various stars that litter the world above them. If each and every light represents another transcended person, he supposes that they’re deep in conversation with all of them, communicating in a way that he’ll never understand. “This experiment has failed,” they say after a moment’s silence, “and so, we must try again.”

The entire world around him goes cold. “Try again?” he repeats in shock. 

“Yes,” they say. “The premise of this experiment is good. We can simply try again - perhaps this time, both Zev and Daniel will adopt new identities when the Troubles return. Humanity’s test can begin anew with them both. Since you’re here, we can begin immediately.” 

“No!” he cries out, somewhat wildly, as if the Judge has any reason to listen to him. “You said you couldn’t interfere. This is just more interfering! You’re going to be responsible for  _ thousands  _ of deaths!”

The Judge stares at him for a moment. “This is a test,” they say. “This is what I do.” 

Murphy lets out a ragged breath, so full of desperation and frustration that he feels he can barely stay standing. “You can’t judge what humanity is like in moments of war,” he says, the point of his words still forming as he says them. “How they act in high pressure situations, where their life is at stake and so are the lives of everyone they care about, that’s not reflective of what people are like in their day to day life. If you really want to see what humanity is, and who they are at their core, then you can’t expose them to pain and suffering!”

He’s not necessarily qualified to lecture the Judge of the universe on how to do their job, but despite that, they seem to genuinely listen to what he says. “Interesting,” they say, thinking it over. “You raise a good point, Murphy. Perhaps that is what humanity needs.” 

“Thank you,” he says, a flood of relief hitting his heart. “You’ll stop Daniel and Zev, then? You’ll make sure this never happens again?”

They pause yet again. “In order to make sure that happens, we would have to eliminate them from the universe itself,” they say, “and there is no way to do that. The universe always demands a balance. This is why transcendence offers immortality. Removing two beings from it, regardless of what they’ve done, offsets everything.”

Murphy’s mind is going faster than it ever has as he desperately tries to do the job that the Judge already should have done, and fix everything. “Then bring two lives back,” he finally settles on, not seeing another solution even though he’s sure that this is impossible. “If you need to keep a balance, then just - bring two lives back in their place.”

Curiously, the Judge raises an eyebrow, glancing up at the sky as if to see what the others think about such a solution. “I suppose,” they say, slowly, “that would work. An unconventional solution, for sure, but one we are capable of.” 

“Okay,” he says, genuinely smiling despite all the horrible revelations he’s just heard. “Okay! Then - Then do that!” 

“Which two lives?”

“What?”

The Judge fixes him with a loaded gaze. “Which two lives for theirs?” 

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, not sure what to say. “How am I supposed to decide that?” Everyone that has met their untimely demise in Sanctum due to the Troubles deserves to have far more time than was given to them. There isn’t an easy answer to this. 

They only shrug. “Either we exchange their lives,” they say, “or we begin a new experiment.” 

It doesn’t make sense that a choice like this should fall on his shoulders, yet here he is. Somewhat selfishly, though, there’s still one thing he has to ask. “If you did create a new experiment,” he asks, “what happens to me?”

The Judge ponders this for a moment. “Coming here and appealing to us is, truly, a sacrifice on your part,” they say. “You are not truly human, Murphy, but your actions have passed any test I could have put in place. If we begin the experiment anew, I will allow you to transcend, and join us all in the higher consciousness - not as Daniel, but as yourself.” 

It shouldn’t be - but the thought is, regrettably, tempting. He imagines a life for himself among the stars, where he would only know peace and would be able to watch over the town from a safe distance, where he couldn’t cause any more problems. He’d know all there is to know, and he’d never want for anything, and maybe, if he’s lucky enough, one day Bellamy would be able to join him. 

_ Bellamy.  _ Just the thought of the other man is enough to bring him back to reality. He can’t accept this, not if it means subjecting Bellamy to the Troubles for years to come. Yet - he also doesn’t know if he can simply choose two lives to replace that of Daniel and Zev, and leave it at that. Maybe he could exchange his own life for another, or - 

And then, he knows. He knows exactly what he has to do, and honestly, he can’t believe he hadn’t thought of this solution before.  _ Morality, not immortality,  _ he’d once said, but back then he’d had no idea of how right he was. 

“You said that I’m life number ninety-nine,” he says, taking a deep breath to steady himself for what’s about to come. “All those lives that I lived before - do they still exist, somewhere within me?”

The Judge nods, and by the hint of a smile on their face, he can tell they know exactly what he’s about to ask. “They do,” they say. “Even if you can’t access them, their memories and experiences still exist.” 

“Okay,” he says. “Then - exchange all of them, as well as Daniel and Zev. Bring back one hundred and one people.” 

“More than a hundred and one have died at the hands of the Troubles,” the Judge says. “If you were to sacrifice yourself for this, you would still not bring back everybody.”

He nods, slowly. “I know,” he says, “but it’s all that I can do for them.” 

They pause. “Are you truly willing to give up everything for this, Murphy? You would lose your chance at transcendence. You would, to put it simply, cease to exist.” 

“I know,” he says, though his voice threatens to break. “From what you said, I only have one more life left in me, anyway. It’s time to go.” 

He blinks, and then the image of Hope Diyoza is gone, and he staggers back and lets out a sad cry when he sees that she’s been replaced with - 

“Bellamy,” he whispers, fighting the very strong urge to race forwards and give the image of him a hug. He knows that it’s not him, and that it’s still the Judge, but seeing the face of the man he loves like this is making it all so much harder. 

“Do you still want to give everything up?” the Judge asks, using Bellamy’s voice to do so. Even though it’s not his words, it still feels good to hear it again. “Do you truly want to lose him?”

Murphy tries to stifle his tears but they still form behind his eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. “No,” he admits. “I don’t  _ want  _ to. I have to.”

“You do not-”

“I’m not losing him,” he says, cutting them off. “By doing this, I’m saving him.” 

A pause, and then, the Judge nods. “Okay,” they say. “When this is done, I will do away with the anomaly stone, so that it can not be accessed - and I will leave humanity alone, so as to observe what they are like during times of peace, as you say. Moreover, I will return the lives of the last hundred and one people to be lost at the hands of the Troubles. Is this what you are choosing, Murphy?”

“Yes.”

“Once this is done,” they say, “it cannot be undone. Are you  _ sure  _ that this is the path you wish to take?”

He looks at the Judge’s eyes, so warm and full of light that he could mistake them for belonging to the real Bellamy, if he tried hard enough. “Yes,” he says again, and then, because he knows he’ll never get the chance to again, he adds, “Can you just - Can you tell me one thing, before I go?”

“Of course.”

“I know you’re not him,” Murphy says, “but do you - he knows that I loved him, right? Everything I’ve done, every sacrifice I’ve tried to make, it’s all because he taught me how to be brave. He taught me  _ how  _ to love. I need to know that he knows that.” 

“I’m not him,” the Judge agrees, “but from what I understand, and from what I have seen, Murphy - I believe that he knows.”

He nods, breath hitching as he loses the ability to stop the tears from falling. “Okay,” he says. “That’s good. Yeah, that’s good.” 

The Judge smiles, kindly, and Murphy decides that if these are the last moments of his life, he’s allowed to pretend that it’s truly Bellamy looking at him. “Are you ready?” they ask. 

Murphy takes a deep breath, looking up at the vast sky of stars above his head. It’s beautiful, he thinks, to observe the universe in this way, and for that, he considers himself lucky. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m ready.” 

With a feeling of love and content in his chest, Murphy closes his eyes and allows the violet glow of the sky to wash over him. His existence was short, that much is true, but within that time he’d found love, he’d found friendship, and most importantly, he’d  _ been  _ loved right back. There’s nothing more that he could have asked for. If he were to do it all again, he thinks, he wouldn’t have done anything differently. A tear slides down his cheek but it’s not one of grief - it’s representative of pure and utter peace, the kind that not even knowing the secrets of the universe could have given him. 

There had been pain, and there had been suffering, but he’d left Sanctum and the world at large just a little better than it was when he’d found it. If that isn’t the point of being alive, he doesn’t know what is. 

He vanishes from the docks with a smile on his face, and as if he were never even there to begin with, Murphy is gone. 

* * *

Bellamy wakes up by the docks. 

Rather, he’s on what’s left of them. Somewhere during the year and a half he’d been away, they’d been destroyed, but small pieces of them remain intact and it’s on one of these that he slowly returns to consciousness. Emori hovers next to him, but she’s not looking at him. Something far off the coast has completely stolen her attention. 

“Emori?” he asks, but as soon as he speaks, the memory of what she’d done and what happened on the cliffside comes back to him and he springs up to his feet. Murphy’s gone through the red anomaly, to somewhere else, and he’d gone all alone. Without even a second thought as to where they are he’s turning around and getting ready to race off of the docks and back up the cliff. There’s no time to lose. 

He tries to make his escape, but something pulls him back, and he has to look down to see that Emori’s grabbed his hand in hers, even though she’s not wearing gloves, preventing his escape. “Let me go!” he cries, tearing his hand free, but he’s stopped from leaving when shakily, she points out across the ocean at whatever she’s been staring at this whole time. 

Arkadia island is sinking. 

Bellamy stops, turning back to face the ocean and taking a few shaky steps towards it. “I don’t understand,” he says, looking out in pure shock and wonder as the island in the distance falls lower and lower underneath the ocean. It’s not long before it’s gone completely, submerged over the ocean’s waves that act as if the land was never even there. 

Whatever is happening, though, isn’t done yet. Before their very eyes, the wall of fog that keeps Sanctum contained during the Troubles, that used to cut right through Arkadia island, starts to dissipate. It thins out, allowing them to see beyond where it used to stand, before all of the fog simply vanishes back into the atmosphere, rising up and up until it’s gone from view completely. Somehow, and without any warning, it’s as though Sanctum was never contained by it at all. 

“He did it,” Emori whispers, and there’s a tear falling down her cheek, but he doesn’t understand why. “He really did it.”

Bellamy looks at her, then back out at the island, a horrible realization dawning in his chest. “No,” he says, taking another step, but there’s nowhere for him to go. “No, that’s not - then where is he?”

Emori just shakes her head. “He did it,” she repeats, at a complete loss for any other words. 

It’s very simple, really, when he thinks about it. If Murphy were going to come back after saving them all, he would have. The anomaly would have opened up yet again, and he’d have stepped out of it, and he wouldn’t waste any time in finding Bellamy and reuniting with him yet again. 

Except - the anomaly hasn’t opened, the stone that controls it is under the sea, and he’s not  _ here.  _

Bellamy sinks to his knees, staring out at the open ocean, and cries. There’s no shame in it. Emori puts her hands on his shoulders in comfort, and it takes him a very long time to realize that he can feel the wooden dock beneath him and her hands on his skin, and he does not feel any pain. 

* * *

The first thing Sanctum does is hold a funeral. It’s always been good at those. 

Most of the people who died during the past year and a half do not have bodies left to bury, but they do their best, and each victim gets some form of marker in remembrance. At Emori’s request, the stone angel in the church graveyard is removed, severing any ties of the Reyes family to being the so-called guardian angel of Sanctum. Even if in the end Raven did save them all, the angel of stone holds a tainted legacy, and she deserves a better memory than that. 

Lexa, having been woken when the Troubles had vanished, stands at his side, and Emori’s there on his other one. They’re the only ones who survived. Standing in front of the rows upon rows of markers in the graveyard, Bellamy knows that he’d give his life if it meant even one of his friends could come back. 

There’s a marker for Murphy, and even though it’s in the front row, Bellamy doesn’t think it properly conveys just what he did for the town. It’s because of him that they’re even able to take a moment and be here, remembering those that they’ve lost, and no one will ever truly know. He’ll go down in Sanctum’s history as nothing more than that FBI agent who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then was never seen again. 

He bends down so that he’s level with the marker, Lexa and Emori standing a little ways behind him, giving him space. The three of them had just visited Clarke and Raven’s markers, but now that it’s his turn to grieve, he isn’t sure what to say. 

“Murphy,” he whispers, as if the other man can hear him, “You - You were the bravest man I ever met, Murphy, you always were. There’s so much we did together and so much that I never could have done without you.” 

Bellamy pauses, hanging his head, hiding the tears in his eyes. If there was ever a time to cry, it’s today, but he feels like that’s the wrong way to honour Murphy’s memory. “I owe you so much,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I will spend the rest of my life trying to repay that debt.” And then, because he’s here and he needs him to know, “I love you.” 

He waits, for a moment, as if maybe Murphy will say it back - but that never comes. 

Finally, he stands on aching legs, and turns back to Lexa and Emori. “So,” he says, quietly, “what now?”

They both exchange a glance, perhaps unsure of what to even say to something like that, when someone else in the field  _ screams.  _ Bellamy immediately turns towards the source of the sound, eyes landing on a woman near the other end of the church graveyard who is staring at something off in the distance. His eyes narrow when he doesn’t see anything at first, and hesitantly he wonders if the Troubles have somehow come back, but then - 

“Holy shit,” Lexa whispers, and then she’s racing forwards and so is Emori. Bellamy doesn’t move, eyes transfixed on the sight before him.  _ Holy shit  _ just about sums it up. 

There’s a whole crowd of people walking towards the graveyard. To him, it looks like about a hundred people, and as he looks at all of them, he realizes he  _ knows  _ some of them, but that can’t be possible. It can’t be. This has to be someone’s Trouble, or something else sinister has to be going on, but - as they all keep approaching, some breaking off to run and reunite with loved ones, maybe, he thinks, this is really happening. 

Every single person in this crowd was dead, and yet, here they are. 

Lexa’s already found Clarke, and as he looks further into the crowd, he sees Emori and Raven together as well. Tears now spring freely from his eyes as he looks on, eyes landing on Monty and Jasper, finally back together. Miller and Jackson stand in the crowd as well, and it’s not long before he sees Echo, and even Hope, one of the first lives lost during the Troubles this time around. 

“He did it,” he whispers, to nobody at all. 

Suddenly, a little girl breaks through the crowd, and Bellamy nearly screams when he sees who it is. “Octavia!” he says, sprinting across the grass of the graveyard and falling to his knees, taking his sister in his arms and holding her close. He cries, and he holds her tighter than he’s ever held anybody, completely overwhelmed with pure joy. 

It’s not long before his mother finds them, too, and his exhilaration only grows. She’d been lost to the Troubles the time before they’d come around, yet somehow she’s here, standing in front of them, looking exactly how she had before she’d died. “It’s so good to see you again,” he chokes out when he can finally remember how to speak again, and then she just embraces him, and he feels safe in a way that he hasn’t in a very long time. 

To ask for more is selfish of him, but he does look at the crowd of people several more times, waiting to see if Murphy ever emerges from it. He never does. He’s given him the gift of his family back, and returned loved ones to nearly everyone left in Sanctum, but Murphy himself never comes back. “Thank you,” Bellamy whispers, hoping that somehow, wherever Murphy is, he hears him. 

With that, he leads his mother and his sister back into town, and life begins anew. 


	17. time conquered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Only through time is time conquered."

**Six Months Later -**

Sanctum rebuilds. 

It’s a slow and arduous process, but as each day passes, the town starts to come back to itself. The dock is fixed, better than before, and buildings are either built back up or torn down to make way for something new. Housing was a bit of a crisis in the early days, but everyone had worked together and figured out solutions until enough was built and fixed up for everybody. The graveyard of the church was turned into a park with a monument to those who were lost during the Troubles and never did find their way home. 

All it takes to bring people together, Bellamy supposes, is a year long supernatural crisis that nobody can explain. 

The first thing that Bellamy had done after it all ended was fix his front door that Zev had broken down all that time ago, so that his sister and mother could safely stay in his home with him. The second thing he’d done was quit his job. 

“I haven’t worked here in a year and a half,” he’d said to Kane, the police chief, who was working to rebuild the force. “And I was never that good at this job, anyway.”

“There’s still a place for you,” Kane had said, “if you want it.”

That was just it, though - he _didn’t_ want it. Being a police officer had felt like a necessity, beforehand, nothing more than a way to protect a town that he so desperately wanted to help. Now, though, he didn’t need to do that. There was a freedom in his life now that he’d never even been close to, and while he knew he wasn’t leaving Sanctum anytime soon, he wanted to find out what his true place in life was. 

The third thing Bellamy did was build a library. 

More accurately, he’d led the project to fix the library that had been destroyed at some point during the plague of the Troubles. When that had finally happened after months of hard work and labour, there wasn’t anyone in Sanctum who wanted the now open position of librarian, and so - he took it. The collection that he’d managed to salvage was small, but he set his sights on growing it, and the more work he did to better the space the more at home he felt. 

He could heal, here. He could. 

And so, on the sixth month anniversary since the Troubles left them for good, Bellamy finds himself walking down the calm streets of Sanctum. The fresh ocean air feels good on his face and he leans into the sensation, still not quite over the joy he experiences from the simplicity of being able to _feel_ the world around him. He likes to think that, if anything, the Troubles gave him the appreciation of the world around him in a way that he never would have understood otherwise. 

On his way to his library, he passes the police station, where Miller and Jackson are standing on the steps leading up to the building, reclining against the stair rail. “What, no crime to go and stop?” Bellamy calls out to them, giving an easy wave as he passes. 

“Don’t jinx it, Blake!” Miller calls back. He’d kept on being a cop when it had all calmed down, which surprised nobody, but Jackson hadn’t returned to the post of medical examiner. He’d kept the veterinarian office open once he’d rebuilt it, a decision that seemed to make both of them much happier. 

The newspaper office is his next stop on his walk across town. He makes a habit of always saying a quick hello when he passes it, and he does just that, the bell above the door ringing softly as he pushes it open. Most of the old records were destroyed during the fire that had burned the building down, but Monty and Jasper collected what they could find and started the paper all over again from scratch. 

This time, though, the two of them aren’t alone in the office. Echo and Hope are inside as well, sitting close together as they look over a page of old photographs. “Good morning,” he says, uncertainty, not used to there being more than two people in here. 

“It _is_ a good morning!” Jasper declares, bounding across the office to give Bellamy a quick hug. He’s been back from the dead for six months, but he still makes a point to hug him every single time they see each other, something that Bellamy isn’t going to fight. 

Monty comes over as well, offering a smile. “Jasper’s right,” he says. “We’re expanding.” 

“Expanding?” he asks. 

“Yeah!” Jasper says. “Echo and Hope are going to be working here now, too. Once we get off the ground, we’re looking to start publishing weekly - maybe even daily, if we can get that far. Who knows - maybe one day we’ll make it to television!”

Bellamy smiles, nodding. “If anyone can do it,” he says, “it’s you four.” 

Echo and Hope both offer him nothing more than a quick thank you, but he suspects that they’d much rather keep spending time with each other than with him, so he leaves them be. With a goodbye to Monty and Jasper, he makes his way back out of the newspaper office, once more taking in the pure joy that’s never once left his heart since Sanctum had come back to itself. 

He doesn’t make it much farther down the street before coming across Clarke and Lexa, who are going the opposite way as him, towards the docks. “Bell!” Clarke calls, a wide smile on her face. “I’m glad we caught you! We went to the library, but you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, I’m heading there now,” he says, stopping next to them. “What’s up?”

They exchange a glance, the two of them holding hands. “We’re actually about to head out,” Lexa answers for them both. “Emori and Raven are taking us on a trip down the coastline. We’re just going to see what’s out there, you know? Take in some sights. See the world!” 

Sure enough, from far away on the docks, he hears Raven’s voice call out. “Hurry up, or we’re leaving you behind!” Distantly, he thinks he can hear Emori telling her not to rush them, and it brings a smile to his face. Emori and Raven had been through so much pain over the past two years. If there were any two people who deserved to find love again, it was them. 

“When are you going to be back?” he asks, not wanting to keep them, but also knowing he’ll miss seeing them around each day. 

“Don’t worry,” Clarke says, “not long. We just never got a chance to really leave Sanctum before, you know?” 

He’s not surprised, really, that they’re taking a vacation. Clarke had quit her old job even before he had, and she’d thrown herself back into the passion she’d been forced to give up - art. Her creations now hang all over town, and he knows that she and Lexa were tossing around the idea of starting up a gallery at some point. 

“I hope you have fun,” he says, and he hugs them both before letting them go, waving to Raven and Emori as well before he continues on his way. 

The church is on his left, but he ignores it as he carries on. Jaha had come back, but he’d mostly stayed silent, perhaps now truly repenting for all that he’d done in the wake of the Troubles. Maybe one day Bellamy would forgive him for the atrocities he committed - but that day was not today. The priest could stay in the church if he wanted to, but Bellamy himself had no reason to go back there. 

Sighing, he digs through his work bag hanging off his shoulder, pulling out the book that he’s in the middle of reading. _The Tempest_ is not his favourite Shakespeare play, but he’s taken it upon himself to read all of them, and so he opens the book back up to the page he’s left off at. 

_Our revels now are ended,_ he reads. _These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air; and, like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, all which inherit, shall dissolve; and, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on -_

Suddenly, without warning, he’s yanked backwards and off his path. Head deep in the play, he hadn’t realized he’d stepped into the street but the car that would have hit him had someone not just saved his life proves that he had. 

“Close one,” his saviour behind him says, and a chill sweeps through Bellamy’s skin. It’s more than just the realization he nearly died. He _knows_ that voice, but it can’t be. There’s absolutely no way that it could be, yet still, Bellamy turns around, needing to see for himself. 

Murphy stands in front of him. 

There’s no way that this makes any sense, but it’s _him,_ down to every detail. He looks just as he had when he’d left him for the last time, back on the cliffs, the one place in Sanctum that Bellamy refused to revisit. “Thank you,” he stammers out. Whatever part of his brain that’s holding onto logic and composure knows that it can’t really be him, but oh, how he wants it to be. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, so easily, his voice just like Murphy’s. “Maybe be more careful if you’re going to read in the middle of the road, hey?”

It’s exactly what he’d said to him the first time they’d met, all that time ago, and it nearly makes Bellamy burst into tears. “Yeah,” he says, hands visibly shaking. “I’ll remember that.”

“You do that,” comes the response, and then he’s turning away, but Bellamy can’t let him go, not that easily. 

“Wait!” he calls, and then hesitates for a moment when the man turns around. “Uh - your name isn’t Murphy, by any chance, is it?”

The man only smiles. “No, sorry,” he says. 

“Oh,” he replies, and pushing one of his hands into his jacket pockets and tightly gripping onto the fabric there, a small amount of relief washing over him as he feels every single piece of it. The air on his skin still feels cold, and the sun is still warm, and yet someone who looks exactly like Murphy stands before him. “Sorry, I - you just look like someone I used to know.”

“One of those faces, I guess,” he says, and then he holds out a hand. “My name’s John.”

“Bellamy,” he replies as he shakes the hand offered, the feeling of his skin not a foreign one. “Are you, uh - new to Sanctum?”

John smiles, once again, and it fills him with an indescribable feeling. “You could say that,” he says. “I’m just looking for a fresh start, I guess. Somewhere to start over.” 

And though it’s not him, and the Troubles are still gone for good, Bellamy gets the oddest sense that in some form or another, just a piece of Murphy, _his_ Murphy, still exists in the universe. “Sanctum’s pretty good at those,” he says. “I think you might have come to the right place.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, and though he hasn’t been holding his breath, now, after six months time, he thinks he can finally start to breathe easy. “Yeah, it is.” 

He always knew, one way or another, that Murphy would keep his final promise. 

* * *

**Twenty-Two Years Later-**

If the Troubles were going to come back, then they’d come back today. 

For the past twenty-two years, Bellamy’s kept a timer in his head for this day, waiting to see if the newfound peace Sanctum’s experienced during his life would shatter. Throughout all his life, and everything he’s done, he’s never forgotten the date that the Troubles would make their reappearance, and he suspects nobody else has, either. 

And so he sits by the fireplace in his home, staring into the flames, feeling the heat radiate on his skin. As long as he’s got that, he knows that they’re fine. The moon is perched high in the sky. His watch tells him it’s only minutes to midnight, and once the next day begins and he can still feel the fire and know that it will burn him, then he will know that everything will be okay. 

Without a word, a blanket is draped over his shoulders and John settles next to him in front of the fireplace. Twenty-two years ago, he’d told him about the Troubles and what they meant in Sanctum - not because he wanted to, necessarily, but because he knew he could never hide such a large piece of himself and his life from someone he loves. He hadn’t told him that Murphy, way back when, had looked exactly like him, but everything else he’d explained in full - and John had believed him. 

“Do you feel that?” he asks, taking Bellamy’s hand in his own. The wedding ring he’s wearing feels cool to the touch. 

“Yes,” he says, softly, gazing into the fire. 

John hums in contentment next to him. Together, they keep an eye on the clock until the hand moves, signalling that it’s hit midnight, and the next day has begun. 

There’s a hand on Bellamy’s cheek, then, and he turns his face to look his husband in the eye. “Do you feel that?” he says again, quietly. 

“Yes,” he says, the relief palpable. 

“You feel me, then?” John asks, leaning in to kiss him.

“I do,” Bellamy whispers, and then he kisses him again, feeling every single moment of it. Outside, though he suspects nearly everyone is awake tonight, Sanctum rests easy. 

If Bellamy knew the secrets of the universe, then he might have known that the Judge, high up in the stars, was smiling as they watched. “It looks like he had one life left in him after all,” he might have heard them say, and he might have been witness to their decision to leave humanity alone, for a while, and let them revel in this newfound happiness. He might have seen them finally move on, and he might have known that the Earth was safe from any higher-up intrusion. 

Bellamy, though, doesn’t see any of that. He only kisses his husband, finding solace in the love that had always been there amidst all the suffering, and he finds a sense of peace that not even knowing the inner workings of the universe could have given him. 

Everything, he knows, is going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and...that's the end! i really, sincerely hope you liked it. thank you so much to everyone who has read this giant monster of a fic and been very kind to me about it. your support means a lot to me, and it means a lot that you would take the time to read something as long as this! i had a lot of fun writing it, so i hope it was fun to read, too. 
> 
> a special thanks goes out to two of the very best people i know, charlie and oog. they are blueparacosm and oogaboogu on here, respectively, and they are just the kindest, most patient, most encouraging people i know. they've both put up with a lot of frantic messages from me while i was putting this thing together and for that they deserve sainthood. love u guys. please go check out their amazing murphamy fics, you will not regret it. 
> 
> lastly...come and find me on twitter @reidsnora! i would love to hear your thoughts or just chat. thank you again for reading, i hope you liked how it all ended up, and i hope, most of all, you have a great day. thank you <3


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